The Shapes We Pray To
by quickand2thepointless
Summary: COMPLETE. Soren, Elincia, and Aimee are each desperately lost and on the verge of giving up hope, and all three try to turn to Ike for the love they are missing in their lives. Mostly Soren centric, spans throughout PoR and RD.
1. The Only Ones We Know

**But first, a note from the author: **The idea for this story came from a project I am currently working on for Brit Lit which involves writing my very own sonnet sequence that incorporates many the important themes of the Early Modern era of British literature. The narrator of my sequence is a withdrawn and jaded poet on the verge of falling in love with "Joel," her/his best friend, a paragon of talent and compassion. Unfortunately for my narrator, two rival lovers are also interested in making time with Joel for reasons of their own. To make a long story short, I realized halfway through that my narrator reminded me a lot of Soren. Two seconds later I also realized that Joel had a lot in common with Ike. Hence, this story was born, minus all the neoplatonism and religious conflict of the Early Modern Era.

This is going to be longer than Weddings, and it will also take much longer for me to crank this one out. It's essay and project season at school, so my first priority will be getting all of that fun stuff done. Also, those of you who have never read my stuff before should be fairly warned that I focus more on train of thought and inner conflict than dialogue. If you don't enjoy that, than I'm probably not for you!

**Disclaimer: **I don't own the characters. The title is also borrowed from the Iron & Wine song Jezebel. It fits very well with the chapter titles I have planned out, plus it's a very, very good tune. Enjoy!

0o0o0o0o0o0o

**1. The Only Ones We Know**

The book weighs heavily in his hands, seeming to grow thicker and thicker with each passing minute. He knows that he should put it back where he found it, or better yet, throw it into the roaring fire the servants have built for him in library's fireplace, but his hands remained latched onto the fateful tome, vice-like and persistent. As much as he fears the words, he fears greater for their loss, the regression back into ignorance. This who he is, and he cannot erase it or burn it to ash and sweep it away into oblivion.

_Branded._

The word resounds like a bell in Soren's ears. It is a dirty word, one that fits him well. He has always known there was something wrong with him, just as both the woman who took care of him as a child and the sage who taught him magic understood that he was different and underserving of their love and praise. It is no mere coincidence that his life has been one of tragedy and loneliness; this fate is what he has earned for being what he is. Unclean. Unimportant. Nonexistent. Invisible. He has not been wrong in feeling unworthy for most of his life, no better than a mere plaything of the goddess. Such is his punishment for being born of sin. He is doomed to be forever unwelcome in this world. A stranger. An outcast. A pariah. A _Branded_.

Now that he knows, Soren feels unexpectedly trapped. A few years ago, this news would hardly have made a difference in his life. He would have accepted it as reasonable and fitting, a good explanation of all he had suffered once, and that would be that. Without anything to lose, what did matter who knew he was Branded or not? He had loved no one, and thus no one could hurt him with their rejection. But now... now that he has a home, the knowledge of his dirty blood sinks down into a pit at the bottom of his stomach. He has somehow gained possession of something much too good to lose over an issue as sordid as this, the blood-red brand-mark tainting his forehead and the bestial blood coursing through his veins.

"Soren?"

A voice echoes through the library, loud and shattering. _Ike_.

The feelings of nausea increase in Soren's stomach, and he does not answer his friend's call. _Please don't let him find me,_ he begs wildly in his head, cursing his ill luck over and over again. _I can't face him now... not after... _He pulls a grimace and looks angrily down into the pages of the book. Why did he have to learn his heritage now? As soon as he had befriended and trusted someone- something he had once thought was impossible for him- this new information came along to spoil everything. No one, not even good, fair minded Ike, would want anything to do with him now. An untouchable such himself is little better than a curse, and Ike and the Greil Mercenaries would be smart to turn him out in a heartbeat once they figured out how much of a burden they have been harboring amongst him. This thought of losing Ike sickens him. He does not understand why- he has never been frightened of losing anything before- but he understands how afraid he is well enough doubt what he feels. Ike has somehow become necessary to him, and he does not want this Branded business to steal him away from his grasp, taking the only good thing out of his sad and sorry life.

"Soren?" Ike repeats, his voice increasing in volume. "Are you in here? I need a word with you!" He pokes his head around one of the bookshelves, his eyes fixing on the hunched over form of the mage cowering beside his stacks of books. "Ah, there you are," Ike says, a smile settling over his handsome features. "I thought you might be in here."

Soren slams the telltale book shut and shoves it quickly under the cushion of a nearby chair as the commander slowly approaches where he is seated in front of the flickering fire. Attempting a look of innocence, or as much of a look of innocence as he is capable of without looking ridiculous, he looks up into Ike's startling blue eyes and murmurs a noncommittal, "Yes? Is something wrong?"

Ike tilts his head, a few strands of hair falling in front of his eyes. "I should ask you the same question. You look like you're about to be sick."

"I'm fine," Soren quickly protests. "It's cold in here."

"But you're in front of the fire...?"

"It's dying as you can see." He quickly tries to change the subject. "What is it that you wanted to speak to me about?"

"Oh. Well, the Apostle is planning another mission for us, and I was thinking you and I ought to speak to her about it. She may be the Empress of Begnion, but her ideas are no good unless you can come up with a plan to suit them." Ike draws his fingers through his blue hair with one hand and flicks through the pages of one of Soren's books with the other. "Brushing up on your laguz history?"

"It seemed appropriate considering the circumstances of the war."

"Hmm. Learn anything interesting?"

"Er..." Soren stalls for a moment, having actually read very little before stumbling upon the chapter discussing the Branded. "Did you know that the kid who helped us with our boat when we wrecked on the reefs near Goldoa is actually older than all of our company put together?"

"Kurthnaga? Really?" Ike lifts an eyebrow in surprise. "He looked our age when we met him."

"The laguz age at different rates than you... we... do." _And so do I,_ he adds sorrowfully in his head, his red eyes darkening in a sense of shame. "Especially the dragons."

Ike nods, but his eyes flicker with concern as his friend's face pales to an unnatural color. "Soren? Are you sure you're all right?"

Soren debates telling Ike that he is not okay, and will never be again, but how can Ike understand whatever it is that he is feeling, this overwhelming torrent of fear and doubt raging deep inside him? Ike has suffered his share of misery and loss, but he has always been certain of his course, and, more importantly, certain of who he is and what his duties are. He draws respect and adoration to him like a magnet, never having to worry about withering from lack of love and human connection. He is not like Soren in this respect, and in truth, Soren relies on him for his steadiness, his ability to be more of a human than Soren himself can ever hope to be. But this being so, how can he ever begin to understand the inhuman soul residing in his friend which cannot, by law, belong anywhere, but so hungrily burns to make its home in him? If he knew, Ike would naturally be as repulsed by him as everyone else in the world has always been, so Soren knows better than to open himself up to rejection from the person whom he is least willing to receive it from. Deciding on self preservation over the release of revealing his true feelings, Soren remains silent.

"Soren?" Ike presses, placing an innocent hand on Soren's shoulder. "If you're sick, I could go get Rhys to take a look at you."

Soren shakes his head stubbornly. "I told you, I'm cold. I'll just give the fire a stoke..."

"No, don't." Ike grabs Soren's elbow and pulls him to his feet, his eyebrows drawing together in apprehension. "The Apostle's cooks have made some soup and sandwiches for us back in our rooms. We'll have some together with the others, okay? It will make you feel better."

"But I'm not hungry."

"Everyone gets hungry sometimes, Soren. Even you. Come on." He tugs again, and Soren follows, his stomach once again sinking in shame at this goodness his blood makes him unworthy of.

He wonders why he allows himself to be led by Ike at times. He knows it would be easier to harden his heart once again, to revert back to the solitary and unemotional shell of a being he had once been, but to do so has become almost impossible for him to even consider. He has had a taste of happiness and comfort, albeit a small one, and he does not want to forfeit so sweet and rare a thing in favor of the old misery of his former life. Even he is not so self-loathing as that.

By time they walk back to the cathedral, the other mercenaries are already centered around the massive oak table in the dining hall, each attempting to polish off the entire meal before the notoriously ravenous Ike can get a crack at it. Elincia and Aimee both scoot over to make room for the commander beside them, each equally hoping to claim his attention for the duration of the meal, but Ike, oblivious as always, drags Soren to where Titania, Oscar, and the others of their company are seated together.

"Took you long enough to get here," Titania says wryly, glancing in amusement at their empty plates. "It's a bit strange to actually be getting a fair share of the meal for once in my life."

"Don't get used to it," Ike grunts, snatching up five sandwiches from the platter and handing one over to Soren. "I was fetching Soren."

"Ah, yes. The Apostle will wish to speak to the three of us shortly about her latest scheme. Something about the Duke of Tanas, I've heard."

"I would be glad to be rid of the Apostle and her schemes," Mist says sourly. "Wouldn't you Ike? If only she would just help us instead of making us run errands for her all over Begnion."

"Oh, but we must be charitable," Elincia kindly objects. "The Apostle will do what she can for us."

"Will she?" Lethe wonders aloud. "It seems to me that she is more given to playing games with us than actually doing any helping."

Tormod, newly joined to their little group, smiles tentatively. "But she did agree to help Muarim and I, didn't she? That wasn't necessary for her to do, but she agreed to it anyways."

"Yes," Lethe agrees patiently, "but she is a child. Like all children, she has her whims and fancies, and she may fancy to help you, but choose to ignore us."

"That is harsh," protests Elincia.

"But perhaps true," Ike interrupts. "With the way she treated you when you first met, I hardly know what to make of her. All I know is that we shouldn't consider her aid a certainty."

Soren nods his assent, as does Titania. With the backing of the three most important opinions of the army, the issue ideally would close there, if not for the fact that another point was trying to be made outside of the company's approval of the Apostle of Begnion.

"Oh, well spoken, my sweet hero," Aimee cries gaily after a few minutes of silence, clanking a fork against her glass of wine. "Not only a fearsome warrior, but an intellect, too."

Ike pauses before taking a bite out of his second sandwich. "Uh... an intellect?"

"Hardly!" Lethe snorts. "He's coherent most of the time, but that's the most that can be said for him. If you want a real genius, you should speak with King Caineghis rather than this fledgling beorc pup."

"Slander all you want, but you shall not taint him in my mind. I know a perfect specimen when I see one, even if you do not."

"Can we talk about something else?" Ike wonders.

Aimee merely smiles indulgently. "You are humble, hero dearest, and I wouldn't have it any other way. But I'll win you yet with my charms- you will see."

Mist and Boyd share a glance of amusement and Lethe once again snorts sharply under her breath in disbelief at this speech. Soren is not at all humored by it, though he once would have been glad to join the others in mocking the vanity and ridiculousness of their pretty shop girl. He knows that Ike's pride has been suffering from his father's unfortunate death and the dissent among the Greil mercenaries. He also knows that nothing works on wounded pride more effectively than petty flattery like Aimee's. He does not think that Ike will give into her temptations, but the threat of interference is still there, as pitiful and unlikely as it may be.

_Not threat_, Soren quickly corrects himself. _I shouldn't feel threatened, it's not as if I..._ But the thought remains unfinished. He wonders for a moment if he _is _feeling somewhat threatened, as if a claim he thought he had on Ike is being challenged somehow. But what claim? He is Ike's trusted friend and adviser, but Aimee is not looking to usurp him in that. So why does he feel so offended by her? Why is he so compelled to cut out her honeyed tongue every time she opens her mouth in praises of Ike if she poses no threat in regards to his friendship with him?

_I'm **not** being threatened, _Soren lectures himself silently, feeling somewhat ill at ease. _But I **am** being completely ridiculous._

As he considers this, Elincia sets down her silverware and regards Aimee with an uncharacteristic coolness. "I do not think you should insinuate that you are merely complimenting my lord Ike's intelligence to charm him," she says with an air of distaste, pursing her soft pink lips. "He deserves our compliments, but we should have no hidden motives in giving them to him."

It is hard to tell who is more appalled by this pronouncement- Lethe, Soren, or Ike himself. "On and on you go about his intelligence, but I don't hear either of you backing your arguments up," the cat laguz retorts, flicking her tail in annoyance. "I do not understand you beorc. In Gallia, we only give praise where praise is due. We do not compliment a warrior by praising his brain when we should be praising his claws!"

"Exactly," Ike emphatically adds. "All I do is fight and agree or disagree with other people's plans."

Elincia smiles waveringly. "My lord Ike, if not for you I would not be here today."

"Well, yeah. But it didn't take a lot of brains to manage that."

"But you navigated all those impossible battles-"

"You can thank Soren for that. And for anything else intelligent that comes out of my mouth."

"Yes, but-"

"This is ridiculous," Soren mutters under his breath, clenching his fists tightly to his sides. First Aimee, now this? It is bad enough that Ike's head is getting filled with hot air from one woman; adding the compliments of a vapid beauty with no idea what she's talking about is just taking it a step too far. What do they expect from Ike? Do they truly believe he'll fall in love if they beg him persistently enough to? Do they think they can flatter him into it? To charm him with their considerable beauties into believing that they actually have something of worth to offer him?

"I know it is," Ike murmurs back in response to Soren's outcry. "But she's trying to be grateful. We can't really fault her for that, can we?"

"I can," Soren says moodily, wondering yet again why he feels such burning anger inside, why jealousy, the poisonous emotion he had thought himself above feeling, has come to haunt him now of all times and places.

0o0o0o0o0o0o

Elincia sits in front of the window of her room in the cathedral, staring up at night sky. It is a cloudy night, but she can see the moon shining through a break in the haze, though only faintly. It has almost returned back to the start of its cycle, and its light is just a sliver in the otherwise pitch black sky. It will not be long before it disappears completely, if only for a night.

She once could have contented herself in thinking Lucia and Geoffrey and her father and her Uncle Renning were gazing up at the same moon as she, thinking of her wherever they were and dreaming of the day when she would return to them. But she has become realistic now; she knows all of them are dead, fallen along with their beloved Crimea. Now that they are no longer with her, her life is changing. They were once her entire world, and now that they are lost, she has had to build herself a new one. She has had to learn to say goodbye to the people she thought she would never have to live without.

Her heart overcome with sadness, she shuts the window and returns to her bed, sinking into it and wrapping the covers around herself like a cocoon. She doesn't sleep much anymore thanks to the nightmares that hound her every time she closes her eyes, but instead she daydreams and ponders out what is to become of her. She no longer feels on the verge of death thanks to Ike and his numerous successes, but neither does she feel any closer to regaining her rightful seat in Crimea. Her nation, once so alive and essential to her, is dying slowly in her mind. She loved it once because it tied her to people she deeply cared for, but now she can no longer think of it as home without those people there to make it welcome for her. She is beginning to think now that home is not a concrete place, but rather is wherever the objects of the heart can be found. Now that her heart is broken, she is not certain she truly has a home to call her own any longer. In truth, she's never felt more lost in her entire life.

However, she knows that a formula exists for displaced princesses such as herself. They are not supposed to wander the continent forever in exhaustion and despair; their destiny is to be found and rescued by a knight in shining armor or a prince of some sort. Her hero, the one who delivers her from her plight, will renew her sense of home, and return her to a place of happiness that she will never again lose. Storybooks and legends have taught her to believe in this myth, and now she sees that it may be coming true in her own life. She did not die alone in Crimea, after all, like the Daein army intended her to. She was rescued. Ike had come for her. He had set her on the path of deliverance, just like in stories.

But it worries her sometimes that he is destined to be her valiant knight. She had thought she had been in love once before, and she isn't quite sure she is ready to replace everything she had felt then- all the exhausting, tumultuous, and exhilarating emotions of first affection- with something new. She wants to be saved, she wants to find home again, but she doesn't want those memories to be painted over as if they never existed. Ike was not who she dreamed of as a young woman mooning over the night sky and finding poetry on the petal of every flower, nor was he the gentleman she had once imagined would take her hand on her wedding day and press it to his lips. He wasn't who she had long desired a kiss from, nor was he the man she yearned to have unpin her hair and watch it tumble over her bare shoulders. There had been another, now dead, that her heart has called to over the years and whose memory she still clings to. Even now he lingers within her, still drawing up love to her heart, still calling out to her, and she, for her part, still finds herself answer his call.

But, but, but. Even in fairy tales princesses can't marry the dead. They are bound to the living, to the palaces and kingdoms and noble knights of the mortal realms. She can't go on living in the past. She can't close her eyes to any new chance at love that may approach her, even though the thought of loving again frightens her to the core. Happy endings only come to those who follow the set formula of adding one distressed damsel with one courageous rescuer, and what she wants more than anything is a happy ending to amend all of this death and despair the war has brought.

With a sigh, Elincia sits up again and pulls her knees up to her chest. She feels as if she is drowning, being pulled underwater by the ghostly hands of her once happy past, but that Ike is there to offer her a chance at redemption gives her hope enough not to fall apart.

She will do as she must.

0o0o0o0o0o0o

"So, what do you think?" Ike asks Soren as they reascend the staircase back to their rooms after meeting with the Apostle.

"About the mission?"

"Sure."

"I think it could be the break we've been hoping for from Begnion. It's logical that the Senate controls much of Sanaki's decisions, but if she is able to bring to light corruption among its members, she could gain more power with which to help us."

"I agree. Hopefully we can find whatever evidence she's looking for."

"It shouldn't be too difficult. The Senate seems to be up to their ears in corruption to me."

Ike grins. "I certainly wouldn't mind getting the whole lot of them in deep water with the Apostle. I would say that they're all as good as swine, but that would be an insult to swine."

They reach Soren's room, but instead of heading on to his own, Ike follows his companion inside. "Goddess, this place is neat," he remarks upon noting the immaculately made bed and the neatly alphabetized books and ledgers.

"You know how I am," Soren reminds him.

"I know. But I feel like I'll make it dirty just by walking in here."

"Feel free to make is as dirty as you like. I am more than capable of cleaning it up again."

"But you don't need the extra work. I need your mind focused on strategy, not scrubbing your room."

Soren shrugs. "Very well. As you wish."

But Ike does not make to leave, instead choosing to remain where he is and study the room with deliberate interest. "It doesn't suit you," he says finally. "Your office back at the old fort was much more practical. You need maps, not..." He steps forward and jabs a thumb at a painting of two fat men holding bunches of grapes in their meaty fists. "Whatever that is."

"Indeed. They could have at least provided me with some aesthetically pleasing art."

Ike chuckles, but quickly turns solemn again. "I wish we could go back sometimes."

"To the fort? I think all of us do, Ike."

"Of course. And I know its our duty to continue on, but sometimes I think that Princess Elincia... everyone... expects me to be more than I am. Like that whole thing at supper today."

"Yes?"

"I mean, you don't think I'm all that smart, do you?"

"I think you're scrupulous," Soren honestly replies. "You have a conscience."

"I only do what I think is right. You're the one who figures out how I should do it."

"But don't go reminding the princess of that. I don't need her singing my praises over meals in that tedious and inane way of hers."

Ike raises an eyebrow, though he is not all at all surprised by this cynical remark coming from Soren. "Ah. You don't like her?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"She's like..." Soren trails off, looking back at the painting they had just been mocking as if the answer rested somewhere within it. "She's something nice to look at, and she's decent enough in her morality, but when does she ever say anything that actually _means_ anything? Its like she never even thinks half the time, but runs through the world believing the best of everyone and every situation. And the world isn't like that at all."

"I think you aren't giving her enough credit," Ike protests. "She really has been through a lot, and she's been more effected by it than she shows."

"Hmph. I still think Gatrie and Boyd have more of an emotional range than she does."

"But you of all people should know that people feel more than what they show on the surface."

Soren frowns, abashed by this chastisement. "I suppose."

"Look, you don't have to like Elincia. All I'm saying is that if you're going to complain about her withholding her emotions, you ought to stop doing the same thing yourself. And don't even try denying that you do it."

"I wasn't going to," Soren responds, his voice flat.

"Good. Because I know you're upset about something. You were looking pretty disturbed when I found you in the library, and you only got worse over dinner."

"Hm."

"See? Elincia probably thinks and feels just as much as you do, but she's just as incompetent as you at showing it. Besides, you don't even like people who are emotional wrecking balls. You know, like Aimee."

"Oh yes, _Aimee_," Soren sighs, his voice dripping in scorn. "What did you even do to her to get her fawning all over you like that?"

"I don't know. She mentioned something about me fighting off the crows that attacked our ship on our way to Begnion, but I didn't really follow what she was saying. Next thing I know, she's grabbing my hand every time I go to her shop and asking me to commit to a date for our wedding! It doesn't make any sense."

"You have that effect on people, Ike."

"Excuse me?"

Soren flushes a little and bites absently on his lip; he hadn't intended on saying that out loud. "Women tend to like you, in case you haven't noticed."

To Soren's utter bafflement, Ike seems surprised to hear this. "They do? Hmm. I wonder why."

"It might have something to do with how you fight... and how you look doing it."

"Really? I wasn't aware I looked any different fighting. Strange."

"Uh... yes. Strange." Soren shifts uncomfortably on his feet, wishing the conversation would turn in another direction.

Thankfully, Ike is obliging to this wish. "Huh," he says, still looking bemused. "Well, I suppose I should get some sleep. My eye is probably twitching, isn't it?" He says this teasingly; he finds it funny that Soren should notice such a small, seemingly insignificant detail about him.

Soren nods. "We have a bit of a task ahead of us tomorrow anyways. Dealing with a senator will be less than easy."

"All right, then. You take care of yourself." He bends forward slightly and ruffles Soren's long hair between his coarse fingers. "I know you have something on your mind, but don't let it drag you down. We need you."

"Of course," Soren says.

Ike leaves the room, trailing some mud across the floor with his boots. Soren leaves it there, though its presence slightly itches at his obsessive compulsions. The smell of it is also Ike's, and it reminds him fondly of the times they spent together back in Crimea when they were younger, trekking through endless woods on childish adventures, and soiling both their boots and trousers with thick country mud. He misses the innocence, the simplicity of those days. Now that war has come and now that he realizes he is _Branded_, nothing seems innocent and simple anymore.

Why had he gone back to find Ike all those years ago? Why couldn't he have just accepted his fate for what it was, a deserved life of solitude and misery? Now he is on the verge of losing all of it, all because of this bad blood he has been cursed with. Even Ike will turn on him. Even Ike, for all his nobleness, will not be able to love a freak of nature. He should resign himself to his loss, sweeping away all the old and happy memories of coming to live with Ike and becoming a part of the mercenaries that he no longer deserves, but something within him, some selfish, hungry, primal part, makes him hold onto them with all he has.

_I don't want to lose this_, he tells himself solemnly, inhaling the aroma of mud and leather and Ike still lingering in the air. _Whatever this is, if I lose it, I may never be able to find it again. _


	2. The Ones Who Redeem Us

**A/N: **For those of you looking for some Aimee, here she is! Perhaps the woman behind all the lunatic stalking has more to her than she shows...

But never fear, Soren lovers. Our favorite mage is still the star of the overall story. Hope you all enjoy this newest installment!

Also, I would like to add that a few FE events/supports are going to be out of order or slightly altered for the sake of plot. Hope this is okay with all you die hard gamers!

**2. The Ones That Redeem Us **(in which Aimee makes a bet, Stefan issues an invitation, and Elincia hands out a title)

"Muston? Muuuuusssstonnnnn?"

Aimee's voice trills sharply through the silent morning air like a whistle, and Muston reluctantly pokes his head out of the caravan to answer it. "Yes?" he asks, feeling somewhat disgruntled. With the mercenaries gone all morning and the cathedral fairly silent for a change, he had been hoping to catch up on some much needed sleep before all the usual chaos and bustle returned. Unfortunately for him, Daniel and Jorge had set up a war game just outside the wagon as soon he had tried to close his eyes and drift back off into oblivion, and now here is Aimee, screeching like a goddess forsaken cat that has just had its tail stepped on. He wonders to himself why he travels with such strange, eclectic, and, worst of all, noisy people. Perhaps next time he's hiring, he should consider the advantages of workin with mutes.

"Muston, dear, do you know where my hero and his merry band have gone off to this morning?" Aimee wonders, twirling a strand of hair between her fingers. "I was not aware they had any plans today."

Muston yawns. "They're in Tanas, dealing with a senator for the Apostle. They shouldn't be long, from what Ilyana told me."

"Hmm. I wonder why my sweet didn't tell me about this? I would have liked to wish him well before he set off."

"And I'm sure that's exactly why no one told you they were leaving," Muston mutters under his breath, ducking back into the caravan. "Now, if only I could find some earplugs..."

"Oh, sweet Ike," Aimee sighs to herself. "You are as stubborn as they come, but I will win you yet! It's not for anything that I was born this beautiful, but solely for the purpose of ensnaring a man as handsome and strong as you to my side. You may evade me all you like, but I will win you in the end!"

Humming a jubilant tune under her breath, she wanders back over to where her tent is set up in the cathedral's courtyard and ducks inside. She doesn't really need to bother with minding the shop today as all her prospective clients are out being heroes in the field, but she likes to be there all the same. She has not always had so secure a life, surrounded by rare and useful items to sell and protected by a whole band of well trained mercenaries. Life has treated her kindly recently, even though it had been cruel and merciless to her in her past.

Her hums faltering, Aimee pulls out the hand mirror she keeps among her possessions and studies her reflection intently. She is admittedly vain, though she feels she has every right to be proud of her attractiveness. When she was a child, men and women of all ages would approach her or her mother to sing the praises of her dark and tumbling hair, bright blue eyes, and plump and sumptuous lips, claiming that the mere sight of her was enough to lift their spirits and give them joy. Thus she grew up under the impression that beauty was a gift meant to be liberally shared, not hidden demurely under a veil. Though she and her mother lived a life of poverty, and her clothes were little better than dyed rags and scraps salvaged from the streets, she at least had her fair looks to make her a person of consequence. Without them she might have fallen into despair and self-loathing, but with them she had at least some scrap of pride to cling to when her situation drove her to shame and humiliation.

Her beauty is, in fact, the reason she is still alive.

It was plague season. She and her mother were traveling through Tellius like nomads, trying to find some place where the streets were safe from the taint of disease. Their money was nearly gone, and they hadn't been able to eat more than a few bites of meat in days. Soldiers were patrolling the streets like hounds, weeding out the hungry and homeless and snatching up every thief they could sink their teeth into. There was nowhere they could stay, nowhere they could sleep, and nothing they could eat. With the plague rampant, no one wanted to welcome two starving strangers into their homes, not even for the sake of charity.

They had at last settled in Daein. Security in Nevassa was lax, so they could at least find a place to huddle in the streets without being thrown out by soldiers. They weren't certain how they were going to make money, although some kindly thief children kept them supplied them with enough food to survive on for the time being. Winter was coming, promising to be as fierce as it ever was in frigid Daein, but they had no idea where else they could go. So they stayed.

And then salvation came. His name was Prideri, and according to his own testimony, he was an art dealer and amateur painter. He found them in Nevassa right before winter hit, and instantly became smitten with Aimee's exotic beauty. Noting their less than fortunate situation, he made an offer in order to win her: if Aimee would come to pose for a series of portraits for him, he would put up her mother in his summer cottage and provide her with a humble allowance for food and clothing. Though wary of Prideri and his thinly masked hedonism, Aimee and her mother agreed to the bargain. It was either that or freeze to death in the streets of Nevassa, and neither of them were prepared to give up their lives to preserve their dignity.

So Aimee was brought to her benefactor's house to live. At first, it wasn't horrible. She was fed and kept well dressed for once in her life, and there were plenty of servant girls her own age in the house for her to socialize with. None of them much liked her- they found her equivalent to an overeager puppy starved for approval and attention, but quite without the charms of soft fur and sloe eyes to make her endearing. She was not over-concerned by their dismissals, however, and kept speaking with them if only to stay connected to the outside world.

As for Prideri, he had dutifully kept up his end of the bargain. He painted her for an hour or so after he took lunch and then gave her money to pass onto her mother. He did not demand much of her; they spoke sometimes about art and aesthetics as he sketched her, and he often enjoyed her joining him for supper, but aside from these instances, he rarely monopolized her time. Aimee had even begun to think that he was no threat to her after all. Sure, he lived a life centered around leisure and pleasure, but as long as he did not entangle her in it, she decided she would not be bothered by it.

But three or so months into her stay, things had changed. As both winter and the threat of the plague faded, Aimee had been eager to return to her mother though Prideri grew more and more insistent that she remain with him. He demanded her presence more frequently then, ordering her to sit for more provocative poses than he had originally arranged for, having her expose her shoulders and pucker her lips in a strange and lewd fashion. He held the prospect of more money over her head to force her to obey, and more than that he flattered her, feeding with pretty words the vanity that had been sewn within her in her younger years. Though she feared him, he'd had her in a thrall. She thought, with a sense of self-righteousness, that she made him happy, and that in return for this happiness he would protect her from the harsh world of poverty and desperation she had always known.

This, obviously, had not been the case. A month later she had been helping one of the servants straighten up Prideri's office when she'd found a letter in his desk dated only a week or so after she'd first come to live with him. It was from a married couple that kept a cottage beside the one her mother was staying in; they had found her dead in his house, her body showing signs of the plague.

She'd sought him out directly, demanding answers. Why hadn't she been told of her mother's death? Why had she been kept hostage by him, sending his money to a woman who no longer existed in their realm of being? But he'd smiled blandly through her many queries, smiling and shaking his head and saying, "Poor, silly Aimee" under his breath.

"Sir, I may be poor and silly," she'd said indignantly, "but you're not answering my question."

"I'm under no obligation to, my dear. I am not the one in need of food and shelter, am I?" He'd drawn his finger underneath her chin and lifted it upwards. "But if you must know, I have reasons for wanting you to stay here."

"Oh?"

"Yes. I have reasons." He hooked a finger around the band of her skirts. "Isn't it obvious? I was going to wait until you felt more at ease with me, but there really is no time like the present, is there?"

"Please, sir, I-"

"Ssh, my rose. Enough talking! You talk altogether too much for my liking."

"Well, if you're going to insult me-" She'd struggled to fight him off as he forced her to his bed, his rough hands encircling her waist.

He'd only laughed. "I'm going to do exactly as I like, Aimee. Don't you see that?"

And so he kept on, forcing his hungry lips upon hers and tearing at her dress. She'd fought and fought with all her might, clawing and scratching at any skin she could reach with her nails and cursing her stupidity. She'd been taken in by a lech and liar, and now her mother was gone and she was about ready to make a low woman of herself because she had so grossly misjudged him. He had never intended to protect her for the selfless reasons she had hoped, but had thought of her in the way of any average lusty man looking for a thing of beauty to treasure briefly and then dispose of without a second thought.

But despite this humbling realzation, Aimee was still as proud of a woman as she ever was; not even this situation had erased that from her. She would not allow herself to be made a mockery of by this sick excuse of a man. She would not dishonor her mother's memory in so crude a way.

Her body coursing with the power righteous fury, she reached desperately behind her until her hands latched onto the vase on his bedside table, and without thinking twice, without a moment of hesitation or guilt for the mess she was poised to cause, she brought it full force down upon his head.

Glass exploded everywhere, piercing the skin of her cheeks and hands, but she did not stop to treat her wounds or check to see how badly she had injured her target. She simply rose to her feet, blood streaming in trickles down her body, and fled from the house as fast as her feet would carry her.

Looking back, she realizes how faulty her plan was. If she had not been so fortunate as to directly run straight into Jorge and Daniel as they were selling their wares in the streets, and if they had not taken pity on her distressed state and allowed her to travel with them and work in their shop, Prideri could have easily had her hung for her assault on him. But Aimee believes in fate, and she knows the goddess blessed her escape and delivered her into the hands of friends. She was not meant to die for her foolish and juvenile mistake, but to live on and choose for herself with more wisdom and care than she had in her youth.

"Aimee?"

A voice from within her tent interrupts her recollections. She sets aside her looking glass and turns around.

Jorge is leaning on her makeshift desk, having somehow slipped into her shop while she was occupied with her thoughts, and is regarding her with an amused look on his face. "What are you doing?" he asks laughingly. "Contemplating the glory of your reflection as always? Planning on asking it to marry you?"

"Oh, don't be cute," she mutters sourly, annoyed by his teasing. "I won't be charmed by it."

"Won't you? Of course not. You're only charmed by the handsome Ike, aren't you?"

"Yes, well. We all have our weaknesses."

"You know he'll marry the Princess Elincia," he laments with a pitying smile

She frowns tightly. "I know nothing of the sort. Why are you here? Surely you have something else you should be doing."

"Just checking in. You never came in for breakfast this morning. Daniel thought you might be unwell."

"I'm as fine as always, as you can see. You should be going. I'm in no mood to entertain you at the moment."

Jorge smirks pleasantly and sits down beside her. "Why should I go? The mercenaries are gone; it's not like I have anything to do."

"You could go off and play war with Daniel."

"No. I don't think so. I don't feel like it."

"Jorge..." She wants to be angry with him, but she finds she cannot. She is indebted to him still, and to the others, for being there to save her when she needed it most.

"Aimee," he echoes. "You seem strangely subdued today. Thoughts troubling you?"

"Perhaps."

"I hope I didn't offend you by saying that Ike will marry Elincia. It was just a conversational statement."

"No, you didn't. I don't believe you, in any case."

"You don't? Everybody is talking about it. They fancy she's in love with him."

"Of course she is. Who wouldn't be?"

Jorge snorts. "I'm not. He's a fine man, but I don't see why everyone is so interested. Or you, for that matter. I thought you'd go for a different type."

"You're wrong. A perfectly handsome and strong man is exactly to my tastes."

"Why? You can fend for yourself, and you're attractive enough on your own without needing to accessorize it."

His praise draws an unwitting smile to her lips. "I wouldn't expect you to understand, Jorge. My sweet Ike is not just a superb warrior and the handsomest man Tellius has seen, but he is noble, too. He would treat me well indeed. He is too good to have anything but the best intentions"

"_He _would treat you well? And how have we been treating you, Aimee, that you are so eager to replace us?" Jorge objects tightly, his face showing signs of injury. "We may not be warriors, but we have always done our best for you."

"Oh, no, no, no. I am not being ungrateful, Jorge. But a pretty woman does so count on securing herself a husband when she gets to be my age. It is not my wish to be alone forever."

"Very well. I still say Ike will marry Princess Elincia. He'd be a fool not to."

"My Ike does not care for titles and nobility. He would be much happier settling down with me."

"Would you be willing to bet on it?"

She smiles brightly. "Why wouldn't I be? I may not be royalty, but I am more beautiful than little Miss Elincia and much more charming."

"And vainer," he scoffs.

She merely rolls her eyes. "So, are you planning on making a bet with me? I'll win, of course."

"I doubt it. What stakes would you agree to?"

"If I win and end up with Ike, you will owe me one large, very time consuming, and possibly dangerous favor."

"You've piqued my interest. What is it?"

"I..."

She does not want to tell him that she wants him to find her mother's grave. She has never even explained to either of the twins what had happened between herself and Prideri before they rescued her, and she does not feel up to it at the moment. After the whole incident unfolded, she had stitched herself up neatly, vowing to forget those old wounds and never again dwell on her grievous error. If she speaks of it now, she knows she is bound to unravel to nothing. She had just barely escaped Prideri with her pride and dignity intact, and if she shares her miserable tale with anyone, she realizes every scrap of vanity and worth she still clings to will at last escape from her grasp, leaving her with essentially nothing to love about herself. She can't allow herself that weakness, not after so many years spent in poverty and desperation staving it off.

"I cannot tell you," she says finally.

Jorge shrugs. "Fine. Then if you lose and Ike marries Elincia, _you _will owe _me _a favor you will probably find distasteful, but I think might be quite good for you in the long run. And since you will not tell me your intended favor for me, I will not tell you my intended favor for you." He sticks out his hand. "Are we agreed?"

She considers for a moment. She knows Ike is abject to her now, but she has faith that the beauty that called so many people to adore her in the past will prevail over him. She doesn't know what she will do with herself if it doesn't; her desire for his love has already begun to fester into an obsession within her. It is her chance of redemption and atonement for her past self; in choosing a man entirely opposite of the hateful Prideri, she will put the past at rest and at last find peace within herself.

"Very well," she says finally, placing her hand in Jorge's. "I accept your wager."

0o0o0o0o0o

Soren has never felt more tired in his entire life. He had been counting on only performing a quick search of Duke Oliver's mansion in Tanas, but certainly not battling the Duke's army in both his mansion and in the endless expanse of the Serenes Forest. Now, after what had seemed like countless hours of battling and searching for the Duke's stolen heron, they are at last emerging from the reborn forest, drained of all energy and stained from head to toe in mud.

"Hey, look at the bright side," Ike says feebly. "We walked into the Serenes with nothing more than our army, and now we're coming out with two herons, three hawks, and the promise of Sanaki's support."

"Excuse me for not jumping up and down in victory after that whole ordeal," Soren grumbles quietly. "I would rather listen to Boyd discussing the virtues of his muscles for the rest of my life than suffer through that again."

"Well, now we'll be heading on to the real enemy and focusing on the most important task at hand. I thought you would be relieved."

"Oh, I am. Trust me. I may even show it after some food and rest."

"See, I knew you'd get hungry one of these days."

As soon as they arrive back to Mainal Cathedral, chaos erupts. The remaining senators rush up to the Apostle, firmly insisting that they had nothing to do with Oliver's treachery, and the Apostle, a look of cold fury on her face, begins hollering at them to shut up so that she might have a word with Ike and Elincia. This quickly erupts into a shouting match between everyone in the room, and Soren, suffering the effects of a throbbing headache and an ill temper, stalks off towards the library to get far and away from all of their nonsense.

He scurries directly over to the fire where he had been reading a few days earlier, and digs the book on the Branded out from under the cushion where he had hid it. He hadn't gotten around to finishing up his research thanks to Ike's interruption and the successive battles they had been immersed in, but now he has at last found a few moments to spare on the question of his identity. Nervously opening it back to the fateful chapter, he reads from where he had left off, his heart pounding noisily underneath his robes.

_The Branded_, the book says, _are a complex and peculiar race. Born of a laguz and beorc, their looks and powers are entirely human, though the taint of their laguz blood manifests itself through a specific mark on their body. This mark, called the Brand, may appear on any child descending from a beorc and laguz, though it often skips generations and shows up unexpectedly years and years after the original sin. Both laguz and other Branded can sense the Brand on any Branded, making it nearly impossible for them to hide their-_

A man clears his throat suddenly in the vicinity of his right ear. "Soren? Excuse me, but I don't think we've met."

Soren looks up in alarm. Standing above him is one of Ike's new recruits, the swordmaster from the Grann Desert, Stefan. The older man is staring down at him with a look of intensity on his face, as if Soren is a particularly fascinating picture that he just cannot decipher the meaning of. Soren quickly snaps his book shut and frowns fiercely at this new intruder. "I know who you are," he says darkly.

"You do? Very well. I suppose introductions aren't necessary, then." Stefan sits down beside him and takes the book from his hands. "Ah, reading up on the laguz. Fascinating, aren't they?"

"They can be, I suppose."

"Hmm. I myself am not fond of them, but then again, I'm not so fond of the beorc either."

"You are one, though," says Soren, although he senses something odd about Stefan, something he just can't put his finger on...

"Only somewhat," Stefan protests. "I rather think I'm more like you." He places his thumb against Soren's Brand, smiling slightly. "We seem to have something in common, you and I."

"I... don't know what you're talking about."

"Of course you do. What else could you be studying in that little book of yours? You want to know the reason why you're so different from all your little friends. And now you know. The real question is, what are you going to do about it?"

"What I do is none of your business," Soren snaps.

"But it can be, if you like. You see, we Branded don't age like the beorc do. It's the curse of our laguz blood. While your Ike will grow taller and bigger over the years, you will stay very much the same for some time. And I have an answer for that, if you are interested."

"I'm not."

Stefan's smile grows broader. "Luckily for you, I'll tell you anyways. In the Grann Desert, I've founded a colony of Branded individuals such as yourself. There are plenty of us in Tellius, but we aren't exactly safe to roam freely around. The beorc and laguz don't like us, you see, since we're crimes against the goddess. The colony provides us a chance to live in safety and to hide the fact that our lifespans are so mutated. I would like for you to join us, Soren."

Soren doesn't hesitate. "Not a chance."

"You would be wise to think twice about that answer. Your secret will not be safe forever, you understand. Your commander will realize that you've stopped aging, and then what will he think? Do you think he will stand by you always?"

"Maybe. Maybe not. What matters is that I will stand by _him_ always. For as long as he needs me, I will be there."

Stefan frowns suddenly. "So certain. Why are you so certain? Wohat is this beorc boy that he calls so much loyalty in you? He doesn't deserve it. He's just like the others. Good and kind and noble until the truth comes out. Then he'll be someone else entirely."

Blood rushes to Soren's face. "Don't talk about him that way," he hisses, clenching his fist. "If you knew what-"

But suddenly, he falls silent. A voice comes from the other side of the library, sounding very much like Princess Elincia's, and it cuts their argument to a quick halt before it can grow more heated.

"-wanted to tell you before I announced it to the others," the princess is saying, her voice shy and girlish. "I know you will not like it, so I thought..."

"Yes?" This voice belongs to Ike. Soren flushes brightly in surprise, and Stefan glances back at him with raised eyebrows.

"I... my lord Ike, it is my wish and the Apostle's to grant you a title so you may lead our armies to war with Daein. I know you do not wish such a position of power, but I would not entrust this task to anyone else. I have come to realize that it must be you. The Empress is in agreement with me on this, and I am certain her men will be more than happy to follow your guidance."

"Princess Elincia? Are you sure about this?"

"As sure as I've ever been about anything," she says tremulously. "I've come to rely on you so much now, and you have never let me down. Only you can deliver me to Crimea and bring us back our home."

"But this title thing... can it be avoided? It's never been my life's ambition to be a stuffy noble."

Elincia laughs tenatively, as if not sure whether or not to take offense at this remark. "I don't think so. People do not like commoners running the army, my lord Ike. It would be much wiser for you to accept the title than to chance their descent."

"Hmm. Well, I..." Ike stops abruptly mid-sentence and Soren and Stefan both whirl around to meet his gaze. He and Elincia have reached where they are sitting, and both are now regarding them in surprise. "Stefan? Soren? I didn't know you two were down here."

"We just having a little chat. Hope that's all right with you, commander." The note of smugness in Stefan's voice makes Soren want to strangle him, but he doubts Elincia would approve of him indulging his temper through violence directly in front of her.

"A chat?" Ike eyebrows nearly fly off his forehead. Since when did Soren chat with people?

"He wanted to know about my reading material," Soren responds gruffly. "Just like you did the other day."

"Oh."

"Um..." Soren notices that Elincia has her arm linked through Ike's, and it makes him feel slightly disturbed. "I'll just... go."

"Wait! Just a moment, Soren. You must have heard what Princess Elincia was speaking to me about. Am I right?"

"Yes. I heard."

"And?"

"And...?"

"What do you think?"

"Excuse me?"

"I'm asking you what you think." Ike drops Elincia's arm and takes a few steps closer to the mage. "Does it sound like a decent strategy to you?"

Soren shrugs. "It may have some negative consequences when the war ends, but for now I see no problem with it. You're the best person for the job, in any case."

"All right, then. Princess Elincia, there's your answer."

Elincia smiles sweetly and retakes his arm. "Thank you, my lord Ike. Will you join me as I announce this news to the Apostle's army?

"Of course. Soren, will you come, too?"

"I think I'd better go rest right now, if you don't mind."

"Okay." Ike regards Stefan levelly. "My apologies for interrupting your conversation, Stefan."

"No trouble at all, commander." Stefan salutes Ike in mock politeness, and turns back to Soren as he and Princess Elincia leave the library.

"Well, well, well," he muses softly. "What to make of that?"

"What?" Soren asks testily.

"You've got a crush on the commander, don't you?"

"I do not!"

"Hmph. Don't be silly. You make it quite obvious."

"No, I do not!" Soren yells, his face now a deep shade of red. "Shut up!"

"Look, Soren, I feel for you. He's a handsome man, and his sword arm is almost as good as mine, But you have to be realistic with yourself here. Everybody knows he's going to marry Elincia, and-"

"Shut up!" Soren violently shoves Stefan away, though his lack of strength keeps the swordsman from moving an inch. "Shut up, shut up, shut up! Even if I didn't already have a position in the Greil Mercenaries, I wouldn't want to go to your colony anyways. You say I'll find friends among the Branded, but you've wasted no time in mocking me just like everyone else. Laguz, beorc, Branded- it's all the same! I don't want a thing to do with any of it!"

Stefan frowns, his eyes darkening. "Very well, then. But keep in mind where we'll be going now. Daein. If you can stand up to the most hateful nation of our world without changing your mind about this matter, then perhaps you deserve to stay. But remember, Soren: our kind is not meant to be loved. You may wish and pray all you like for this Ike of yours to understand your heart, but it won't ever happen. He has his own destiny, and you have yours. Why try to alter the flow of things? What is meant to be will be, whether you like it or not."

With that, Stefan turns on his heel and strides out of the library, leaving Soren alone to simmer in his anger and wrestle with thoughts in peace.


	3. The Ones We Suffer For

**A/N: **Another part up! My thanks go out to Alice, my dear friend and fellow Fire Emblem fan, for the long e-mail she sent me about her conspiracy theory about Prideri from Aimee's story really being Duke Oliver under an alias. Who knows, maybe she's on to something there... we'll just have to wait and see. As for now, let's return to Soren!

**3. The Ones We Suffer For **(in which Soren is threatened, Elincia flirts, and emotions run high)

_I hate Stefan_, Soren thinks to himself as he tries to listen to Ike and Titania as they recap the success of their last battle. _I really, really, __**really**__ hate Stefan._

Finding out that he is a filthy Branded was one thing. At least with that particular piece of information he could devise a strategy on how best to keep it hidden from those who would be most insulted by it. But this... all of these new emotions that have arisen him thanks to Stefan's low little taunt he has no idea how to handle, even with all his legendary tactical genius on his side.

_Well, well, well. What to make of that? You've got a crush on the commander, don't you?_

The fact is, Soren doesn't know the first thing about love. Children are supposed to learn that emotion from their parents and families, but as Soren had no one to affirm him or treat him with affection when he was a child, he isn't quite sure he has a firm grasp on the concept. He assumes that the unconditional devotion and loyalty he feels for Ike is a form of love, though perhaps not the sort most normal people experience. Of this kind of love he is not concerned, however; loyalty, unwavering friendship, and respect were not at all what Stefan was accusing him of. His real concern over these past few weeks of marching from Begnion to Daein has been the prospect of romantic love, and the chance that, if Stefan is at all to be believed, he is currently experiencing it with Ike.

At first, the idea seemed ridiculous. Love, in Soren's estimation, is no more than blinding human emotion that he is above feeling, much like hunger or nostalgia. And Ike! As if Ike, a hulking mass of muscles and unassuming charisma, would ever be interested in him, cynical, sour little Soren! To even hope for such a thing is out of the question. Soren knows better than to fight battles he knows he cannot win, so he somewhat doubts that his heart would make the tactical mistake of wanting a prize it would never be granted.

However, he does wonder. He has had all the time in the world to wonder thanks to the endless marching across dull and frigid Daein, and he has not come to a satisfactory answer in regards to Stefan's accusation. Despite the fact that he feels himself too smart to fall in love, he's beginning to notice things that he has been feeling for some time but has never before realized. Like, for example, the fact that he is ten times edgier than normal when he sees Aimee or especially Elincia speaking with Ike and quite obviously trying to flirt with him. Or that he feels calmest when Ike is nearby to temper his moods. Or that he cannot deny to himself, no matter how many times he tries, that Ike is probably the most attractive person he has ever had the pleasure of looking at, which is certainly saying something considering he is acquainted with both heron siblings and Ranulf of Gallia.

Even now as he sits in a meeting with Ike and Titania his miserable confusion and curiosity hounds him, and all he can do is stare at Ike in rapt bewilderment, wondering why he cannot look away and whether this means his new-found interest is real or just his imagination playing foul tricks on him to make him feel more upended than he already is by being a Branded. All of this turmoil he pins directly on Stefan for being hateful enough to draw his attention to it, because he sincerely doubts he would even be thinking about Ike's muscles or, goddess forbid, his extremely nice lips if not for the swordmaster's rude interference.

_Damn Stefan, _Soren curses to himself, resisting the urge to smack himself in the face for his lack of attention. _Damn, damn, damn him!_

"Soren, you've been strangely silent," Titania finally says after she and Ike run out of comments about the battle. "How do you think we should move forward?"

"Hmm? Oh! I..." He blinks for a moment, trying to remember the details of their latest skirmish. "I... I think the enemy knew we were coming. Which is not good, because it means someone in our group is leaking information to them. Someone possibly working as a double agent for Daein."

Titania frowns. "Daein? Who amongst us would have interests in Daein? Jill and Sothe are the only two that live there, and neither of them can be guilty. The stable master would have alerted us right away if Jill was slipping out at night on her wyvern, and there's no way Sothe is doing any sneaking around while sharing a tent with someone as nosy as Tormod. I can't imagine who would possibly betray us."

"All the same, we should be incredibly careful from here on out," Ike remarks. "Soren is right. The enemy definitely knew we were coming, and tried to use that information to get the upper hand over us. I don't suppose you have any theories on who the informant could be, Soren?"

As a matter of fact, Soren does have a fairly good idea as to who is trying to double deal them, but all the same, he does not want to go off shouting accusations without confronting his suspect first. Ike trusts Nasir at this point, and he probably isn't going to believe Soren's claims without some solid proof. In any case, Soren has a feeling that Nasir will think twice about spilling more information across enemy lines if he is aware of the fact that he's under suspicion, especially considering the fact that he is laguz and the people he is trying to betray them to are the biggest laguz haters on the continent. Soren is trying to remain fairly optimistic about that whole situation, though he knows if something isn't done about it soon, it could quickly escalate out of control.

"Suffice it to say that I will be monitoring the situation very carefully as we progress through Daein," Soren says finally. "We can't afford to have much more of these large scale attacks launched on us here without further turning the people against us."

"I agree with you there. We've got no grief with the Daeins themselves, just their government. We should be sure to keep damages to the towns and cities here to a bare minimum."

"Hm. I guess I'll keep my eyes open, though I don't like to suspect anyone of any wrong doing," Titania murmurs thoughtfully. "Anything else to add, Soren?"

"That about covers it. I've already taken care of supplies with Muston and the others, so we should be prepared to continue our march to Nevassa."

"All right, then." Ike stands up and stretches languidly like a cat. "I'm going to get something to eat. Either of you want to join me?"

"I'll come," Titania volunteers.

Soren shrugs. "I might in a few minutes. I need to talk to someone first."

"Stefan?" Ike asks with a frown.

"What? Absolutely not!"

"Just wondering. I thought you guys might be friends or something."

"You thought very, very incorrectly."

"It's just that you don't go out of your way to speak with people you don't like, and you two were talking the other week..."

"Trust me, that wasn't by choice. Now, if there are no other concerns, by your leave I will excuse myself."

"All right," Ike says, though there is still something like suspicion lingering in his blue eyes as Soren quickly steps out of the tent.

Soren, far from even considering paying the Grann Desert swordsman a visit, instead heads over to the tent Nasir has to himself at the fringes of the camp. The laguz is sitting just outside, examining the falling snow with a look of enchantment on his usually impassive face. He looks up as Soren approaches, smiling kindly.

"You don't get to see this much snow anywhere else in Tellius, I'd imagine," he says conversationally after a few moments of silence. "It isn't like this in Crimea during the winter, is it?"

"No. The snow is usually light, and there aren't very many blizzards," Soren answers neutrally.

"Hmm. Where I come from, it feels like spring year round. This snow business is quite new to me." He pauses for a moment, brushing snowflakes from his cloak. "But I don't suppose you came here to talk about the weather. Something on your mind?"

"The enemy knew we were launching an attack today, Nasir."

"You think so? Well, there's nothing I can do or say about that. You managed quite all right, regardless."

"Nasir, I know it was you who told them," Soren states flatly. "I haven't told Ike yet, but if you stop whatever you're doing immediately, I won't have to."

Nasir's eyes narrow. "Soren, Soren, Soren. You are being even more suspicious than usual! What makes you think I have anything to do with Daein? Didn't Ike tell you I was a laguz?"

"Believe it or not, I don't go around trusting everyone in the company like the other mercenaries do. I keep my eyes and ears open, so don't think everything you've been doing has slipped my notice. I don't know why you're doing it, but it needs to stop. Ike trusts you, and he hasn't done anything to deserve you selling him to our enemies."

Nasir smiles faintly, but his eyes show an undeniable hardness. "I have the deepest respect for Ike, Soren. Never doubt that. But I have every right to keep a secret or two from him... just like you do."

Soren freezes. "What do you mean?"

"Oh, nothing. I merely wonder what General Ike would think if he knew what that quaint little symbol on your forehead meant. Fortunately for you, the beorc aren't as talented at picking out the Branded as the laguz are. He'll never even figure out on his own unless someone tells him..."

"You... wouldn't..."

"Wouldn't I? I think you know the consequences of your actions from here on out, Soren. Rest assured that I bear no ill will toward Ike and Princess Elincia, but I, much like you, have more than my own opinion weighing in the matter. Based on your heritage, I doubt you truly want to be fighting alongside laguz, but you do so anyways because Ike has asked you to. I too am motivated to do things for someone who matters more to me than myself. That is all I will say to you on the matter."

"You would betray the trust of so many, including your own kind? Don't be foolish. With Ike on our side, we will defeat anything you or Daein throws our way."

"Don't be so certain, little beorc. Ike isn't the strongest thing out there. If you have any fault, it is that you underestimate the power and usefulness of the laguz. As long as you deny their strength, there is no way you can win."

"What do you mean? We're fighting Ashnard, not the laguz."

Nasir smiles sadly. "You'll find out soon enough, Soren. But as for now, we are done talking. If you care at all for General Ike's opinion of you, I would avoid running off to him and telling tales you cannot prove. Goodnight."

He ducks back into the tent, and Soren remains where he is for a moment or two, thinking. The Crimean army could be in serious trouble if he does not step forward with his information, but, then again, Nasir's threat is an intelligent one. If he releases any information about the Branded to Ike or the rest of the army, Soren could very well lose his position as staff officer, and without his assistance, the Crimean army wouldn't be able to last five seconds out in the field. No matter what Soren chooses, there is a significant risk to be considered. For once, his tactical genius has skillfully been out maneuvered, and by a laguz no less! He once would have thought such a thing to be utterly impossible.

"Very well, Nasir," Soren at last sighs under his breath. "This time the victory is yours."

0o0o0o0o0o

"My lord Ike, may I take this seat beside you?"

Elincia watches nervously as he gazes up into her eyes, his mouth full of chicken and dripping with gravy. Once he's swallowed, he nods in assent, and with a sigh of relief and gratitude she drops down next to him.

"Try the chicken," he suggests, helping himself to more. "It's very good."

"Did my lord Oscar make it?"

"Mhm. If it was Mist's, there would be a lot more left over."

Elincia takes a piece and slowly chews it. "Wonderful," she declares, glad of his approving smile. "You have my thanks for having Oscar among your company."

"I agree. This marching around Daein would be much less bearable without a nice hot meal to come back to."

Ike falls silent for a moment or two, giving his full attention to his dinner as he often does during meals. As much as he wishes to respect Elincia by giving her his undivided attention, there is just something so much more commanding in the presence of chicken and gravy that unfailingly ensnares him over anything or anyone else.

"We're really getting close now, aren't we?" Elincia finally asks after waiting a few minutes for Ike to resume their dialogue. "Before we know it, we will be fighting Daein for our homeland. It's really happening."

"Yup. It'll be a struggle to make it to Nevassa, but we're going to get there no matter what it takes. Your homeland will be yours again, Elincia. I promise."

As these words, the princess flushes prettily and ducks her head in embarrassment. "Oh, my lord Ike. It is so nice to hear you call me by my name rather than my title," she says breathlessly. "You have been so very kind to me."

"Whoops. My apologies," Ike quickly amends. "I didn't mean to be rude. My manners have always been a bit lacking, so don't take it personally."

"But my lord Ike... I am not insulted. I am glad you do not think of me as a princess, but as a friend. It is good to know you care for me, at least a little."

But this remark only causes Ike to shake his head more determinedly. "I don't see how being insensitive to your standing is friendly or caring. My father taught me that the best way to express myself to our employers is through respect and dedication. As I learned from speaking to the Apostle and the senate, I can't always go around stepping on everyone's toes and offending their station."

Elincia falters. What he is saying is true enough, but she does not understand how she is supposed to flirt with someone so blunt and oblivious. She wonders to herself if Ike is even aware of the formula she has known since she was a child, the one about princesses being rescued by heroes. Perhaps if he knew, he would understand what she meant when she spoke to him, and return her feelings in kind. But as he apparently does not, she is uncertain of how to approach him; she is not adept at making her emotions clear, especially when they are yet unclear to herself.

"I don't know what I would do without you here, my lord Ike," she says finally. "I trust in you to keep us safe from whatever is ahead. With you at my side, Crimea will be reborn."

"I will do what I can," Ike replies humbly, polishing off the rest of his food. "But Soren said something very disconcerting during our meeting today. He believes that we have a spy among us, and I happen to agree with him."

"A spy?" Elincia cries. "Oh no, my lord Ike! Who would possibly do such a thing?"

"We're not sure. But it was extremely evident during our last battle that the enemy knew of our coming, and there was no way they should have known that. We're going to have to start investigating people if this continues, Princess Elincia."

"I cannot possibly suspect anyone of such a heinous crime," she insists passionately, her eyes widening. "I trust each member of this company, and I do not believe any one of them wishes to harm me!"

"I don't like to suspect anyone either, but we have to," Ike sighs. "Our success may depend on it. But I think Soren may have a guess or two as to who is behind it, and I've been developing a theory of my own just in case the situation progresses. We're both trying to be proactive so it doesn't come to you or anyone else being harmed in any way, rest assured."

"Indeed? May I hear your theory, my lord Ike? If I am in danger, I should be more careful of who I speak to."

Ike leans closer and lowers his voice. "I'm getting a bit concerned about Stefan," he admits.

"Stefan? That nice young man from the Grann Desert? But he helped you perfect your sword mastery and has always been very kind and generous to me! What makes you question his character? Has he said or done anything that I am not aware of?"

"No, nothing in particular," Ike relents. "But there is the fact that we don't know who he is and what his motives for helping us are. According to Lethe, he magically appeared out of the desert and asked to join our group for reasons unknown. Besides, he's been stalking Soren ever since he's come here. If that isn't a red flag, I don't know what is."

"My lord Stefan has been stalking Soren?" Elincia asks in wonderment. "I had not noticed. What business does he have with your staff officer?"

"That's just it! I have no idea! The only thing I can conclude is that he might be getting information about our tactics from observing Soren and then passing them along to the Daein army."

"Oh, there must be another conclusion, my lord Ike. Perhaps Stefan merely wishes to befriend Soren, and that is why he has been so close to him."

"Soren doesn't befriend people easily, Princess Elincia. And I've talked to Soren about Stefan, and Soren does not seem to like him very much at all. I know there's something going on there, but I just can't figure it out!"

Elincia sighs. She had not intended for this conversation to turn into a discussion of army conflicts and the social life of his staff officer, but she has no idea how to steer the conversation back to the flirtatious banter she had been trying for before. At this point, it would seem improper and even a bit careless to engage in sweet talk considering the fact this whole business about investigating Stefan arose from his concerns for her and the army. Perhaps, as he suggested earlier, his devotion to her safety and his respect for her situation are signs of affection on their own without needing the addition of words and overtures to make them romantic.

Deciding against lightening the subject matter, Elincia rises to her feet and offers her hand to Ike. "Come, my lord Ike. There is something I have been meaning to show you. A warehouse has been found containing some funds and weapons that I think will be beneficial for our army and our cause. I would like for you to take a look at it and decide for yourself how much money you wish to take for our treasury."

"Money?" Ike thinks instantly of Volke and the report he had promised to give in exchange for an extremely large sum that had once seemed impossible to scrape together. Now at last he will be able to hear the reason why his father hired the elusive thief in the first place and receive the information that was offered with such a weighty price tag attached. Anticipation coursing through him, he accepts Elincia's hand and also comes to his feet. "Lead the way, princess."

0o0o0o0o0o

Soren can't sleep. The wind is whipping against his tent and howling like an angry cat, and the cold is biting as it slips through the crack in his flaps and envelopes him in a tight embrace. He's not a sentimental person by any stretch of the imagination, but as he sits there shivering in his thin cocoon of blankets, he cannot help but think with longing of the home in Crimea they had left behind. The mercenary fort may not have been the most comfortable or homey place in the world, but it was safe and warm and familiar and far, far away from Daein. And Daein, Soren has decided, is the most horrible land in Tellius. Not because of its coldness, but because it _does_ something to people. It's like a poison, and just being there has tainted many of them with a darkness they had never before felt.

Soren knows he is not alone in feeling the bleakness surrounding them. He can hear Jill crying sometimes a few tents over and Titania mourning and sighing even more than she had back in Crimea or Gallia. Even Aimee, who has been little more than an obnoxious bundle of pointless chatter and energy from the moment they first met her, is given to long spells of silence now that she is within Daein's borders. She still devotes herself entirely to throwing herself upon Ike, but now she does so with a haunted look in her eyes, as if her actions are being driven by a force outside of her control.

And then there is Ike. Ike had entered into this land in faith of their success, but now something has been lost within him. Soren can't put a finger on what has bothered his friend so greatly, but he senses that something of incredible importance is troubling his heart. It's as if he is mourning Greil all over again, but this time with a sense of hopelessness and confusion that hadn't been there before. As general of the army, he does his best to keep his emotions in check, but it is painfully clear to Soren that he hasn't been sleeping well at night, especially not since Mist's medallion disappeared under mysterious and suspicious circumstances.

With misery catching like disease in the camp, morale is at an all time low. Even Soren, whose conscience rarely troubles him in regards to being overtly honest, can admit to releasing his negative emotions a bit unfairly, having given Princess Elincia a long lecture about how her people were probably being tortured and oppressed by Daein occupational forces while she was off spouting her optimistic nonsense, which had then led to Elincia becoming waspish, depressed, and extremely argumentative. The two of them both had gotten excessively catty with their verbal low blows, and Ike, troubled enough by his own inner demons, had yelled at both of them, sending Elincia into a gale of tears and causing Soren to for once feel incredibly ashamed of his rude and disrespectful attitude.

He wishes they could just leave. If only they were not so noble and deeply committed, they could just roll up their tents and wander off, leaving Elincia and Tellius to their respective fates. It would be a selfish, cowardly thing to do, but anything is worth doing if it means leaving Daein and all of its terrible associations. All the pain, all the confusion, all the needless grief they are suffering could vanish if only they gave into their fears and turned their backs on everything that hounds at their footsteps.

Soren sighs and untangles himself from his blankets. There's no point in trying to sleep anymore; it's much too cold and his mind absolutely refuses to be shut off. Forsaking his tent, he pulls his robes back on and steps out into the silent and sleepy camp, his feet crunching lightly on the snow beneath him. To his surprise, he sees there is a fire still burning somewhere over on the far side of the camp, one that he thought he had asked Boyd and Mist to put out after they had finished eating. With an annoyed sigh, he plods over to douse it before it can burn through more of their firewood and waste even more of their supplies.

When he reaches the fire, he is alarmed to see Ike awake and hunched over it, gnawing morosely on a cut of jerky with all the grace of a half-starved wolf. The commander looks up as Soren approaches and smiles sheepishly. "I didn't wake you, did I?" he asks.

"No. I was already awake." Soren sits down on the ground beside Ike, brushing the snow away with his hands. "I see you're up robbing the supply tent of all the food we've been stockpiling."

"Sorry. Eating helps me think."

"Don't worry about it. I won't hold it against you this time if you promise to alert me next time you feel the urge to indulge your midnight cravings."

"Thanks." Ike polishes off the rest of the jerky with relish, and then smacks his lips. "Having trouble sleeping, Soren? Is something wrong."

"I find it hard to sleep when it's this cold. That's it. How about you? You rarely have trouble sleeping, I thought."

"I have a lot on my mind. Whenever I close my eyes, all I can do is think."

Soren's forehead creases in concern. "Are you all right, Ike? You haven't been yourself lately."

"Well, neither have you. It seems to be a common problem these days." Ike stares moodily into the fire, his mouth drawn into a tight frown. "Look, I can't talk about it. It's something very personal about my family, and if I share it with anyone, it should be Mist. But I... I just can't wrap my head around it. I just can't make sense of any of it, and I don't want to face it because... talking about it will make it more real. And I don't want it to be real."

"I see."

"You understand, don't you, Soren? I can tell you've been suffering the same thing, and now I understand your reason for hesitating to speak about it."

"Indeed."

Ike face softens slightly, and he at last turns it away from the fire. "But... just so you know... if you're ever afraid of it or anything else, I will do my best to make it better for you. You know that, right?"

"...yes." Soren absently kicks a stone with the toe of his boot. "Although even you cannot be so good as to be accepting of what I have to say."

"But you'll never know unless you try me, will you?"

"Hmph."

Ike sighs and throws a handful of snow at the fire to put it out. "If we don't get to bed soon, we'll be half-dead in the morning," he says in a heavy and exhausted voice. "We'll both have plenty of time to think and brood in the morning."

"Very well." Soren allows Ike to help him to his feet, and he brushes the snow from his robes before it can melt and make them damp. "Goodnight, Ike."

Ike pauses before he turns to walk back. "Soren?"

"Yeah?"

"Do you remember when you first came to the fort when you were younger and how my father used to find you curled up asleep next to my door in the mornings?"

"Yes..."

"Why did you do that? I always wondered."

Soren folds his arms protectively across his chest. "I couldn't sleep."

"And how did setting up in the hallway help you sleep?"

"I could hear you breathing from there, I suppose. You always used to breathe heavily and mutter in your sleep. It always made me feel better to hear it."

"Why?"

"Well..." Soren has never really considered his reasons before; his actions had been instinctive, and he had not known to question them or discover his motives for doing them. "I guess because it reminded me you were alive... and if you were alive, I was... safe."

"Soren?"

"Yes, Ike?"

"If you ever can't sleep again, you can... you know."

Soren smiles in spite of himself, his heart pounding happily for the first time since coming to Daein. "Thank you, Ike," he says simply, before turning to head back to his tent to sleep the rest of the night in restful peace.


	4. The Ones Who Understand

**A/N: **So I thought I'd release another part before the busyness of Thanksgiving and tying up all my end of the semester projects drags me down. Hopefully I can still squeeze in some writing time, but my schoolwork is going to CONSUME ME if I don't keep up with it. If I somehow manage to find the motivation to start and finish my astronomy essay this week and finish up all my stuff for Brit Lit, I shouldn't get too far behind in writing this.

Anyhoo, enjoy!

**4. The Ones Who Understand **(in which Aimee is tricked and Soren confesses)

It has been decided: they are finally leaving Daein. After finding out that nothing more than scattered Daein troops and a mysterious dragon laguz (and consequently, the discovery of Nasir's betrayal) awaited them in Nevassa and that the bulk of Ashnard's forces had set up in Castle Crimea, Ike agreed that there was really no point in them remaining for any longer. With Princess Elincia and the rest of the army's heartfelt approval, they started off for Crimea a few days back. Now they are on the verge of shedding the frozen wasteland they have all grown to fear and loathe in favor of a more temperate and familiar place, a place where hopes thrives more abudantly than doubt and depression.

Each of them is glad to be going. Even the Daeins in the army had not comfortable to be home, not when the soul of their nation had seemed so twisted and warped by the ideals of their mad king. And besides, Crimea has become a symbol to the company: a symbol of hope, of victory, of justice, and redemption. If not for Ashnard being settled upon the throne, this reunion with their nation would be pure and sweet; it has been nearly a year since they have been within its borders.

The thought of it both thrills and agonizes Elincia. Most days she soliloquizes to Ike about how glad she is to be returning to the nation of her birth, but other times, when she thinks no one is watching, she whispers with a voice drenched in tears, "Dear Lucia and sweet Geoffrey, what will I do when I arrive and you are not there? How am I to survive? How will I carry on?" She dreams of them often, and whenever she wakes from these beautiful slumbers, she feels more and more like giving up hope. How can she even pretend that she will be Queen of Crimea? She is not truly a person without them; they are her identity. Even Ike, as good as he has been to her, cannot draw her back to the days of before, the days when she was younger and knew herself and her own heart like the back of her hand. He can protect her and save her from all the harms that have followed her with dogged bloodlust, but he cannot remind her of who she is or what she once was. The only people who can do that for her have passed beyond the point of her reach. Without them, she is little better than an unknown entity.

Though she tries to keep these miseries to herself, Soren is nothing if not all eyes and all ears. "Do you know who Geoffrey and Lucia are?" he asks Ike after hearing the Princess sighing to herself as they set up camp near the Crimean border. "The princess has been muttering about them nonstop ever since we left Nevassa."

"Hmm," Ike ponders. "I think Kieran mentioned something about Geoffrey. He's one of the Crimean Royal Knights, if I remember correctly. But I've never heard of a Lucia before."

"I think she's worried that they're dead. Which they probably are, considering the Daein attitude towards anyone associated with the Crimean royal family. They must have been close friends of hers."

"Ah. Perhaps I should go talk to her about it. If the princess is suffering, then morale will go down among everyone else." Ike glances over at Elincia's tent, his brow knotted. "Didn't I tell you she was suffering more than she allowed herself to show? Out of all of us, she's probably lost the most to this war."

"Well, I don't think you should speak to her just yet," Soren says earnestly, though trying not to be selfish. "She may improve when we cross the border. You should hold out until then."

"Even if she improves, it's still a burden she'll carry in her heart. She should tell someone. If not me, _someone_."

"It seems all our conversations come back to this," Soren remarks, steering the conversation away from Elincia for a moment. "To tell or not to tell."

"You're right. I guess when you have a lot of people in a big group like this, secrets are a common thing."

"Of course. And she'll talk when she's ready. She'll talk to _you_ at least. She always does."

Ike frowns. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing." Soren flips open a spell book and releases a burst of fire onto the logs Boyd and Gatrie have set up in their new camp. "I just think we'll all rest easier once we are out of this goddess forsaken place."

"I'll rest easier once I get some food in my stomach. Where is Oscar and those heaping stack of ribs he promised for tonight?"

"I don't know. Perhaps you should go find him." The rest of the mercenaries and fighters are filing around the camp fire, plopping down and talking amongst themselves as they pass around plates and silverware in preparation for dinner. "People are looking hungry."

Ike nods and stands up. "Stay where you are," he commands. "I'll be back in a moment with the chef."

"Don't worry, Ike," Soren says. "I'm not going anywhere without you."

o0o0o0o0o0o

Jorge isn't too worried about losing his bet with Aimee. He's observed Ike enough these past few weeks to recognize his emotions for the beguiling shop girl are entirely disinterested. Besides, there's still the Elincia factor that the entire camp has been buzzing about. Their romance is considered to be fact by half the army, though there are a couple of people who are more than happy to voice their skepticism. Mist, for one, insists that her brother is too much of a tactless brute at times for a woman so noble as Elincia to put up with, and Gatrie constantly reminds anyone who will listen to him that Ike "is such a pup, and not interested in the many delights of the ladies". Even so, Jorge is still convinced that Aimee doesn't have much of chance with her sweet hero, Elincia or no Elincia.

But still. There is her beauty to consider. Jorge recognized it from the moment he first laid eyes on her in Daein, and that was when she had been half dressed in ripped clothes, her arms dripping with blood and her eyes wild and desperate. If she could manage to appear lovely to him even at such a horrible moment, he can't imagine how it could have escaped Ike's notuce. And then there is the small chance that the commander will realize what Jorge and Daniel and Ilyana have known for some time, that Aimee, once you get past her many layers of ridiculousness, is actually very kind and giving at her core. Yes, she chatters too much and flirts with what can be considered foolish abandon, but she has always been a sister to them; a bossy, frequently obnoxious, but all together affectionate sister. If Ike could somehow see that side of Aimee, perhaps he _would_ be tempted to think more of her. And such a thing would seriously put their little bet in jeopardy.

Though he isn't overly concerned, Jorge knows better than to chance defeat. Why let a bet unravel on its own when it's much simpler to interfere a little and fix the results? Ike already dislikes Aimee, and it would only take a little encouragement on Jorge's part to get him turned off to her for good. The thought is a tempting one, and though he's fairly convinced he can win the wager without playing dirty, he decides to kep it safe in case Aimee decides to work with more skill and intelligence in regards to her pursuit of Ike.

Approaching the camp fire, he sees Soren, Ike's sullen little best friend, sitting alone slightly apart from the other warriors. Without really thinking about it, Jorge drops down beside him and crosses his legs together. He knows the mage particularly dislikes Aimee, and thus might be willing to join his cause with the right amount of convincing. It's worth a shot, at the very least.

Soren, of course, is resistence incarnate. "You took Ike's seat," he states blandly, not looking directly at Jorge. "Sit somewhere else unless if you have business with me."

"I do, as a matter of fact," Jorge answers. "When's Ike coming back?"

"Shortly."

"I'll be quick. I need to talk to you about Aimee."

"Aimee?" Soren turns to face him, his expression unreadable. "What about her?"

"Nothing important. It's just that... well, I'm aware that she's been bothering General Ike lately. As a member of the merchant caravan, I cannot condone her meddling in the army's affairs. It's not our place."

"Yes? If it bothers you so much, make her stop."

"I would, but I can't. She's not known for listening when people try to tell her what to do."

Soren sighs in annoyance. "Then what do you expect me to do about it? She'd sooner listen to you than me."

"It bothers you too though, doesn't it?"

"Of course. It bothers everyone. Ike doesn't need any distractions, and neither does the rest of the army."

Jorge nods, happy to note the tone of scathing disgust in Soren's voice. "We're in agreement, then. And though she won't listen to us, there is something we could do to get her to stop. Like most women her age, she doesn't like it when people are upset with her."

"Okay. Then get upset with her."

Jorge shakes his head. "That's not exactly what I meant. I was thinking more along the lines of having _Ike_ upset with her."

Soren considers this. "He has a temper sometimes, but Ike is fairly easy going. That could be difficult."

"He doesn't have to be that upset," Jorge amends. "She may not show it all the time, but Aimee's actually pretty sensitive. If he gets a little brusque with her, she may cool off on him for awhile." _Or_, he tells himself honestly in his head_, she may fly off the handle and seriously freak him out for good. _"Maybe you could... eh... politely suggest to her that Ike would like nothing more for winter solstice than a laguz head mounted for his bedroom. I would love to see his reaction if she did something like that."

"That would indeed be amusing, but I doubt that even Aimee is simple minded enough to fall for that. Everyone knows Ike's stance on laguz relations. If you really want to make this work, you'll need a better idea."

"Hey. That's why you're the tactician and I'm a merchant."

"Oh, I see. You want me to do the hard work for you. Lovely." Soren tilts his head for a moment, and then smiles slightly. "I'm sure I could come up with something with a little incentive. How about a discount at either the forge or the armory? That sounds fair, doesn't it?"

"Of course," Jorge answers impatiently. "Will you do it?"

"Oh, all right. I'll do it as a favor to Ike, more than anything else. Anything to get that woman out of his hair."

"You have my thanks, Soren. And speaking of Ike, he's coming this way with Oscar, so I will take my leave of you. Don't forget about our bargain!"

Soren waves his hand in dismissal, and Jorge scurries away before General Ike arrives and wonders what he's up to. _This bet is in the bag_, he thinks triumphantly to himself, though he doesn't stop to wonder why he's become so deeply invested in such a little and innocent game.

O0o0o0o0o0o

Soren is sitting in his tent reading after supper when Ike bursts in, panting, out of breath, and wearing an almost comical look of pure terror. "Quick, hide me!" he hisses, diving behind Soren's cot and knocking him to the floor in the process.

"Ow! Ike!" Soren scrambles to his feet, rubbing fiercely at his bruised elbow. "Was that necessary?"

"Sssh!" Ike places a finger against his lips and tries to clap his other hand over Soren's mouth. "She'll hear you!"

Soren bats him away. "Don't you dare! You may be the general, but you're still not allowed to boss me around in my own tent. Calm down, and tell me what's wrong!"

"It's her," Ike whispers urgently. "Ever since you left the camp fire, she's been following me wherever I go. I just lost her, so I need to hide here for awhile until she goes away again."

"Her? I'm guessing by your tone of voice that you're talking about Aimee?"

"Who else?"

"Ike, if Aimee's out there, I doubt she's going to leave even if you stay here the entire night," Soren sighs, albeit indulgently. "Let me take care of it, okay?"

"I dunno, Soren. She's in one of her moods."

"Isn't she always? Anyways, Jorge wanted me to speak to her about something, so I should probably go out there for a moment. If I'm not back in ten minutes, send out a rescue party."

Ike finally nods his assent. "Okay. I'll be in here hiding if you need me."

Soren steps out of the tent and walks over to Aimee, who is wandering around the camp howling out, "Yohooo? Ikey-poo?" at the top of her lungs.

He clears his throat. "Aimee?"

Aimee whirls around, startled by Soren's interruption, but quickly regains her composure. "Soren? Ew..."

"Charming as ever, I see," Soren says drily. "Looking for Ike?"

"Obviously. Have you seen him around? I have a gift for him."

"He's busy right now. Uh... Princess Elincia is holding a last minute war meeting that he had to attend. Perhaps you would like to pass the gift along to me so I can give it to him? With your best regards, of course?"

"As if!" Aimee snaps, looking offended. "That's the oldest trick in the book! You'll just sneak around behind my back and pretend that _you_ bought it for him. I'm not about to let that handsome man be hoodwinked by someone so crafty as you!"

Soren shrugs indifferently. "Fine. What are you planning on giving him, anyways? Anything good?"

"Something incredibly wonderful, worthy only of a man of my darling hero's caliber. Behold!" She pulls out a Hammerne staff from within her robe and brandishes it majestically. "A item so rare that there are only a few in existence! I'd like to see you top that, mage boy!"

Soren can't help but be impressed. "Not bad. That staff will be extremely helpful out on the field. However..." He purposefully trails off.

"However? What however?" Aimee cries, her face panicked. "You don't think he'll like it?"

"Staves are more of a mage's bread and butter. No offense, but I don't think Ike will even understand what that thing does."

"I'll explain it to him, and then he'll appreciate it. And with this overwhelming display of generosity, he will be unable to help loving me forever."

"Er... whatever you say, Aimee. But when it comes down to it, I think Ike would rather have a delectable meal over the Hammerne staff. If you gave it to him, he'd probably just hand it over to me or Rhys or Mist anyways."

"Oh, but I can't cook," Aimee says in dismay. "I never had a kitchen when I was younger, and in the caravan we purchase all our food or have Daniel or Muston grill some meat from time to time."

"That's too bad," Soren sighs in mock pity. "Ike is especially fond of spicy meat dishes, you know." _At least he was up until last year when he got sick from the curry Mist made him for dinner_, he thinks to himself.

"Ah! Well... I suppose if I gave it a try... it will be worth it if it gets Ike to fall in love with me..."

"If anything will help your cause, that will be it. Oh, and what about the staff?"

"I guess you can have it since you're a mage and all, and you were so nice as to give me that little tip. Teehee. Jorge, taste defeat!"

_That woman is out of her mind, _Soren muses as she skips away back to the caravan. _I hope Jorge knows what he's up against with her._

Shaking his head, he slips back into his tent and fishes Ike out from under his cot. "You know, I'm actually beginning to warm up to Aimee," he says teasingly, holding onto his new staff. "She's very generous, believe it or not, Ikey-poo."

"Hey! Did she give you that?" Ike asks, looking at the Hammerne.

"Yes. She was planning on giving it to you, but, well, you were just too cruel and couldn't bear to be in her presence. So I got it instead."

"Oh, hush," Ike scolds. "You can have it. If I had accepted it, she would have taken it like I was agreeing to marry her or something."

"Probably. She certainly has it in for you. I told you that you have that effect on people."

"But not on you, apparently."

"W-what?" Soren stammers, taken aback. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"I have either Aimee or Princess Elincia on my tail every five seconds, talking my ear off with whatever it is they have to say at the time, but meanwhile _you_ go straight to Nasir and tell him something you've been refusing to share with me for weeks. I don't understand it." He folds his arms imposingly across his chest. "You didn't think I would find out, did you?"

"Nasir? I told him nothing. He-"

"When I gave him his meal this evening, he told me to apologize to you on his behalf for using the secret you've been keeping from me to manipulate you," Ike says accusingly. "What am I supposed to think?"

"I never said a word to him about it," Soren repeats insistently. "He figured it out on his own."

"Well, if the secret's out, what do you have to lose? Do you know what I think? I think you want to tell me. I think a part of you knows that whatever you say won't matter in the end, because you're my friend and it goes against everything I feel and believe in to turn my back on you. You and I both know that you'll never be happy until you speak what's on your mind, and I'm frankly getting tired of waiting for you to trust me. That's what I think."

Soren stares up at Ike, his mouth quivering slightly. "Please, Ike," he begs, though not certain exactly what he is pleading for. "You don't know what it's like. You've always had people to love you, and you don't know what it's like to be without that love. If I tell you and you leave me, I won't have anywhere else to go. You are the only thing I have, Ike. There is no one else."

"I know," Ike agrees firmly, though his eyes are careful and protective. "That's why you have to say whatever you have to say. You're killing yourself with your silence, and if you're too afraid to turn to me for help, who are you ever going to turn to?"

Tears well up in his eyes, but he banishes them quickly, both too proud and frightened to cry. "Please, Ike," he asks again, his face upturned in supplication. "Please."

"I can't force you to say anything you don't want to. But this is me, you're talking to, Soren. Not the woman or the sage who raised you. Nothing you could say would ever make me hate you." Slowly, he slides his hand into Soren's, a gesture that always used to comfort him when he was younger. "I'll stand by you, okay?"

Soren swallows deeply, closes his eyes, then opens them again. The warmth of Ike's hand bolsters him, and he draws on the strength of his body to make him brave. _Once you do this, there is no turning back, _he reminds himself in honesty. _This is the moment that decides everything. Tonight you either hold onto to everything important, or else you lose it all. The moment of truth. The point of no return._

Ike waits for him to gain his composure, saying nothing as he waits. Though Soren is the one sharing his secret, the burden of this revelation is entirely on Ike's shoulders: his reaction will be the thing that defines their future path, and one misstep on his part could shatter their relationship forever. A word, a look, an absentminded gesture... any and all of these things are powerful enough to sever the potency of this moment and steal away all of Soren's meager resolve for good. Though he wants nothing more than to scoop the mage into his arms and yell and scream and shake some sense into him, he knows well enough to stay still and silent and wait for Soren's words to come to him on their own accord.

"You see this mark on my forehead?" Soren says finally, lifting his free hand and tracing the lines with his finger. "It's not the birthmark I've always told you it was. It's a... it's a Brand."

"A brand?" Ike remarks, looking appalled. "You mean someone burned it into you?"

"No. I was born with it. It's not that kind of brand, but the Brand of the Branded."

"The Branded? Is that a religious cult or something?"

Soren reminds himself that Ike hadn't even properly understood what a laguz was until a year ago, so he answers him with as much patience as his nerves allow him to muster. "The Branded are a cross between the laguz and the beorc. They're not incredibly common due to the poor relations between the two races, but they do appear occasionally through the generations. Our existence violates every teaching of the goddess and society, so in essence we truly belong nowhere in the world, and-"

"Hold up!" Ike commands. "Let me wrap my head around this for a moment. What you're saying is you're part laguz? Are you certain?"

Soren turns his face away in shame. "Yes. The mark on my forehead proves it- that's the laguz blood manifesting itself in me."

"But we've always thought it was a birthmark. How can you be truly sure it isn't?"

"For one, because it being a Brand explains why I haven't grown in three years. We Branded have life spans more comparable to the laguz than the beorc, and we develop at an extremely slow pace. Also, both the laguz and others of the Branded can sense the presence of the Brand on a person. That's how Nasir and Ste-" He stops short of saying Stefan's name out loud. "Ahem. That's how he knew what I was."

"And you say the Branded go against Ashera's teachings?"

"The laguz and beorc aren't supposed to associate together in that way. As children of their sin, we are cursed to belong to neither race. Our blood is filthy and we ourselves are unworthy of the gift of life." _And I, _he adds privately, _am entirely unworthy of you_.

Ike processes all of this information for a moment, his eyes fixed with interest on Soren's Brand. "So that's your secret?"

"Yes. Aren't you disgusted with me? I have been deceiving you! I have lived among you and been your friend, and all this time I've been nothing but a dirty, untouchable, unforgivable Branded!"

"Don't you think you're being a little extreme?" Ike asks mildly. "So you're half laguz. So you've got a mark of it on your forehead. You're still the same person in your heart that you were before, aren't you? Why should that disgust me?"

For some reason, Soren grows incensed at this remark. "You don't get it, Ike," he snaps, his hands balling into fists, even the one Ike is still grasping at protectively. "I'm a crime against the goddess! My very existence is a bane to this world! You should be furious with me for deceiving you! You should hate me for befouling your life with my presence."

"Well, I don't know anything about that. If anyone's a crime against the goddess, it's Mad King Ashnard and his cronies, not you. And you certainly haven't 'befouled' my life. I don't really care that you're part laguz, honestly. You're still Soren. You're still my friend."

All the anger and doubt festering inside Soren suddenly dispels at these words. _He really means it_, he thinks with a sense of deep, overwhelming relief. _He's not going to throw me out. He's not going to make me leave. Nothing has changed because I'm Branded. Nothing has changed..._

But no. That isn't right. Something _has_ changed. Maybe not in Ike, but certainly in Soren. All his life he has been waiting for someone- anyone, really- to know him wholly and not loathe him or turn away because of who he is and what he has suffered. Now that Ike has proven to be this person a thousand times over, he knows he can longer deny that he is in love with him, and likely has been from the moment he first gazed into those bright blue eyes and saw the pure, unconditional kindness that shone beautifully beneath the bluntness and unmannerly gruffness that most people saw. He had misunderstood love before because the people he saw loved in such careless ways, ways that seemed to him childish and self serving. But what he feels for Ike isn't like that. This is something deeper and more ancient in its nature; it is something real and different.

His heart is captured. As smart as he is, he is not infallible. He, like any other being, has every capacity to hopelessly, foolishly, and blindly fall in love; as strange and mutated as his body and blood are, his heart beats like any other, hungry and passionate for that which it desires. For the first time in his life, wallowing in these intense and consuming emotions, he feels more a part of the world than he ever has before.

"It was Gallia," Soren says spontaneously, his eyes seeking Ike's to see if they remember. "The sage lived in Gallia."

"Gallia? Does that mean...?"

"When the sage died, I thought I was soon to follow. There wasn't any food. I didn't even know how to speak to ask for what I wanted. I would have died, if not for you. That's why you're the only person I'll ever... that's why you..." But he can't complete the thought without revealing much more than he has it in him to reveal. "That's why you're my only... friend," he says finally.

His heart moved, Ike takes a step closer to him, watching as his face switches between a torrent of muddled emotion and a look that tries to veil everything he is feeling. Releasing his hand, he twines his fingers around his shaking wrist to steady it, his knuckles brushing gently against Soren's pulse point. "Ssh, Soren. It's okay. I understand."

_Surely he can feel how my blood is racing_, Soren thinks in alarm. _I'm giving myself away. He'll see right through me. He'll guess everything, and then..._

But if Ike guesses anything, he gives no indication of it. Today is just another day for him just like the day before it, though Soren's life has forever changed. He merely holds on to his friend's trembling body with tender care, having no idea that Soren's heart is his, and that it will be his for as long as he is alive and breathing.

"Do you think you'll be okay?" Ike asks, releasing him slightly. "I know this was a lot for you to admit to."

"I... I will be fine. Please don't worry after me. I'll collect myself in a moment."

"I could stay here if you like."

"There's no room."

"I could sleep on the floor. I'll go get some blankets."

"Ike... it isn't necessary. I may look like a child, but I'm not anymore. I can deal with this on my own."

"Sure you can, but things are that much harder to deal with when you're alone. Isn't the a lesson we've both been learning over these past few weeks?" He smiles softly, and absently tucks a strand of Soren's hair behind his ear. "Let me get my stuff. I'll be back in a minute. It'll be just like when we were kids, huh?"

Indeed, it will be. Everything is happening just as it has before and will again, but Soren knows none of it will ever again feel the same. Life and love as he had known them once have ended and something new is beginning in their place. He doesn't know exactly what, but he knows that Ike will be there, and he will be with him. No matter what happens, no matter what changes, that will always be true, the one thing that will stay still in a cruel world that stops for nothing.

0o0o0o0o0o

**A/N again:** As the Battle Reunion part of the game is approaching, the next chapter is going to be VERY Elincia-centric. Despite how I portray her in this at times, I actually really love her as a character, and am very excited to do these upcoming scenes with her. Stay tuned!


	5. The Ones We Always Come Back To

**A/N: **So I finally found time in my busy schedule to get this out. Hooray, and a thousand curses upon end of the semester essays and projects! Thankfully, I'm done with finals on the 7th, so I will have plenty of time to write, read for pleasure, and play video games just as much as my heart desires.

Anyhoo, as I noted in the last chapter, this is a very Elincia-centric section. Soren and Aimee will have their turn again come next chapter.

**5. The Ones We Always Come Back To **(in which Elincia comes to a realization and lovers are reunited)

The sounds of clashing steel and shouting swell to a crescendo as the princess sits at her isolated post, listening from a distance. Even after all of these countless battles in her honor, the cacophony of wartime terrors still haunts her ears like a familiar yet menacing ghost. The sting of the dying screams, the piercing clash of blades, the whistling arrows, and the endless and pounding hoof beats has not yet lessened for her, though she knows now how to listen to them without bursting into tears and trying to run to the battlefield to make all of it end. Even so, it kills her that she must stay rooted to this one spot, useless and ineffective. Not far away, men are dying in her name to reclaim the country she lost, and she has been made utterly powerless to step forward and fight alongside them, sharing in the glory and nobility of their cause.

"_You_ are the cause," Ike had told her once, his eyes brooking no disagreement. "If I send you out there to die, this whole thing could go up in flames in an instant. If you die, what do we have that we can fight for?"

"My lord Ike, I cannot permit them to die for me if I give them nothing in return for their sacrifice," she'd objected, though she'd known the argument had already been lost. "It is unjust and selfish of me to ask so much of them when all I can do is sit on the sidelines and helplessly watch them fall!"

Of course, Ike had not been moved. "You will repay them by becoming queen and restoring Crimea. That is the hope they have been dying for. That is the only compensation they want."

And with that, the discussion had been decidedly closed.

But now, Elincia cannot help but again question his judgment. Her army is storming the Riven Bridge, storming straight into Crimea, the nation she has been a symbol of hope for since the start of this conflict, and she is simply sitting in a solitary tent in Daein, waiting for them to carve the path for her. Where is the justice in it? Why can't she be among the first to cross over into Crimean soil if she is their cause, their rallying point, their future queen? How can she make Ike see that?

Her heart aching with sadness and self-loathing, she closes her eyes and empties her thoughts of the war and all the many fears and doubts it has been multiplying in her. Whenever she was sad as a little girl, Lucia would take her hand and encourage her imagination to devise a place where no sadness existed, and the only things in the world were happy memories, sunny days, and endless blue skies spotted with fluffy white clouds that looked dogs chasing rabbits. Now that she is older, Elincia is above hoping that such a place can truly be found, though the thought is beautiful all the same. No matter what troubled her in her younger years, this exercise always soothed her and brought her back to a sense of peace and worthiness inside herself. Though she is a bit jaded now, and well past the age of these childish dreamings, perhaps it will work for her again, if only she can find the strength to seek a piece of happiness buried deep within her anguished heart.

"Take me back to that time and place, Lucia," she whispers pleadingly to the empty air. "I can only go there if you lead me."

o0o0o0o0o0o

The breeze shifts, and the noise from the battlefield fades into silence. In her mind, a picture of a cobblestone courtyard unfolds, peaceful, serene, and not yet bloodied by the chaos of war. There are flowers everywhere; elegant yellow roses, white calla lilies, pale pink orchids, red rimmed carnations. She can draw back the smell of them at will, the sweet aroma of Crimea in the summer during those days before she became a princess without a family or home. It is glorious to return to that sensation again, the feeling of belonging somewhere, of having a place in the world to call her own.

There are voices coming from the garden. The first is bold and boyish, but at the same time sweet and tender. _Geoffrey_, she realizes instantly, her breath catching. "I'm going to catch up with you two!" he laughingly calls out from the far side of the courtyard. "There's no way I'm going to face General Renning without my armor, so you had better give it back!"

Another voice rings out, this one smart and feminine. _Lucia. _"You'll have to pry it from my fingers," she taunts affectionately. "Just try and catch us if you can!"

Elincia watches in her mind's eye as she and Lucia fly into view, panting and out of breath with their gowns in a horrible disarray. In her hands Lucia is tightly clutching Geoffrey's breastplate, and beside her Elincia is clinging to his helmet. They share a conspiratorial smirk as they turn and watch Geoffrey chugging along behind them, trying to keep the two pranksters in his line of sight.

"Lets split up here," Lucia suggests, pointing to a fork in the courtyard. "I'll hide in the gardens, and you can go behind the fountain." Before Elincia can agree to the plan, her friend darts off to the left, her long blue hair unfurling in the wind as she runs.

Elincia obligingly continues on to the fountain, and carefully sits down on the edge, the skirts of her gown pooling prettily out around her. She is not at all well hidden, but then again, unlike Lucia, she has every intention of being found. For a long time she has been devising this encounter, and now at last it can happen just as she has planned.

Sure enough, Geoffrey quickly spots her where she is sitting, and slows down his pace to join her.

"Your helmet, Geoffrey," she says, handing it over to him kindly. "I hope you are not vexed with us. We were merely being silly."

"I could never be vexed with you, Princess," he answers, taking his helmet and setting it aside. "In fact, I am quite glad to see you and my sister still up to your old tricks. It seems like just yesterday we were chasing each other down this very same path as children."

The young Elincia sighs longingly as she remembers those times. "I wish it could always be as it is now," she laments earnestly. "You and I sitting here as we used to do, with nothing else in the world to worry about. Our duties have kept us apart of late, and I miss the times we used to share together... I miss being with you."

"Princess, you know all that I do is to serve, protect, and honor you," Geoffrey states quietly. "The Crimean Royal Knights do greatly occupy me, but I would never be happy with my life if I could not use it to increase your peace and comfort and safety. This is the life that I have gladly chosen."

"Then you are content to be apart from me. Of course."

"Don't say it in that unforgiving manner, your highness. The very thought of you is the only thing that sustains me in my training, and you are the cause that gives my life purpose. Please do not undermine that. It may not be what you want of me, but it is all I can give you."

She frowns in a challenge. "You underestimate yourself. I do not mean to ask you to abandon your training, for I know only you can honor and protect me with all your mind and soul, but I do wish you to be honest with me. You and I both know that you have more power than you think."

"Do I?" he asks, lifting an eyebrow. He is unused to hearing her be so forward with him, since he has always known her to be the very portrait of meekness and compliance. "In what sense do you mean?"

Elincia stammers, "You... you've always..." but suddenly her resolve falls short. She blushes faintly and turns away from him. "No. I will not vex you with such things. Your path is clear to you, and I should not seek to disturb it."

Geoffrey studies her solemnly, his expression difficult to read. "Princess Elincia. I will be honest with you, since that is what you wish of me. I cannot forget the past. We were familiar once, friends of the closest sort, and I thought you the most beautiful creature I had ever laid my eyes upon. I still think of those days and remember them with more fondness than I have for any other memory I possess. But you and I are not free any longer. I am not meant to be as I once was to you, and I cannot entertain any thoughts of changing our relations. But you are still the most beautiful and the best woman I have known. The goddess must forgive me, but you are the only shape I will ever pray to."

"Geoffrey, I do not want to be prayed to," she whispers tremulously, wringing her hands against her chest. "I am a woman, not an idol."

"I am sorry. But I can do no more." To her amazement, he slides off the lip of the fountain and drops to his knees before her. "I can do no more than worship what I see before me, though I can never hope to have it." Wordlessly, he lifts her hand to his lips and gently kisses it. With a sad smile, he sets it back into her lap and bends down further to lift the hem of her gown and place another soft kiss against her slippered foot. "I am sorry."

The princess watches him, her eyes misting over with tears. She wants to pull him to his feet and demand that he do it properly, kissing her without the distant reverence, the need to put himself below her, the insistence of denying them equality. As he is now, he is little better than a servant prostrating himself before her, breathlessly hesitating to be bold enough to even touch the hem of her garment. She does not feel as divine as he makes her out to be, but rather stubbornly human and wanting. An object worthy of worship should not have a heart overwhelmed by passion and selfish desire, and nor should she be driven to burst forth in stern lectures of frustration against this good and gentle man who wants nothing more to love her chastely, within his station.

She makes to tell him so, but before she can open her mouth, Lucia's voice calls out, "Princess? Brother? Don't tell me you've been caught by him, Princess Elincia!"

Geoffrey rises to his feet as Lucia begins to approach them from a distance. "Indeed, and I shall hold her in my custody until you give me back my breastplate," he answers wryly. "Do be reasonable and save your friend from my dastardly clutches."

"She does not quite look like she wishes to be saved," Lucia states, noting Elincia's flushed expression. Nevertheless, she grudgingly hands over the armor to her brother. "You're lucky that the princess is so easily caught, or else you'd be returning to General Renning empty handed."

"Indeed," Geoffrey agrees, catching Elincia's eyes in his own. "She knows my gratitude is ever hers."

o0o0o0o0o0

Elincia opens her eyes again, unsurprised to find they are wet with tears. She cannot even summon anger with herself at this moment of weakness. The sweetness of the memory is too fresh, and if she tries with enough determination, she can even feel the ghost of his kisses on her hands and feet. This more than anything else, she realizes, is the reason for all her sadness. To know that she was loved and to have that love snatched away from her is more pain than her heart can bear. They were so close, on the verge of becoming something pure and beautiful, and then death had come for Crimea and for him. It was unfulfillment, but it was even worse than that. It was pure, uncompromising cruelty, a great and undeserved injustice for both of them. They were young and innocent and in love and trying with all their heart to sort their feelings out, but the world had no sympathy for them. They would never figure out the answer to their desires, for death offered no solutions, only more unanswered questions and impossible hopes.

_No, no, no. I should not think this way_, Elincia inwardly moans, wiping fiercely at her eyes. _He is gone. I have lost him forever. I have to move forward. There is Ike, and he is all the answer I need, he has to be, that's how it works... he saved me, and I... I..._

But even she cannot summon up gratitude for him at the moment. The memory, the happiest one she's ever had, still tugs at her, reminding her of all she once felt, feelings she cannot claim to replicate now with this new man. In fact, the mere thought of Geoffrey calls her to realize how completely stupid and naively ridiculous her precious formula actually is. What had she expected from that insipid generalization? That it would solve all her troubles as if they never existed? That by being rescued, she would automatically feel grateful enough to be convinced into love?

_There is no formula for romance, you great idiot, _she chides herself bitterly. _It is all insensible. You love an impossibility, you fall for that which you cannot have, and you cannot control a second of it. Love does what it likes with you. How could I have pretended otherwise? Oh, Geoffrey! If I cannot have you, I shall not have anyone until time deigns to heal my wound, if it ever does..._

Her soul somewhat cleansed with this clarity, she lifts herself up from the ground and opens up the flaps to her tent. To her relief, the horrific sounds of death and dying that had troubled her so greatly are now gone, replaced by a rhythm of marching boots, cheers, and soldiers singing with rough accomplishment Crimea's national anthem.

"Another victory," she says out loud, releasing her gratitude in a long, exhausted sigh. "I may go home again. Goddess bless you, Ike."

"Shall we ride to meet them, your highness?" the sentry posted by her tent questions.

"Please." She gratefully accepts the leg up on to his horse. "Are they close by?"

"Just on the horizon, my lady."

"Then let us make haste."

The sentry pushes the horse into a gallop, and they sail forward towards the victorious army. The shape of them materializes on the horizon, and she can see the soldiers marching forward, Crimea's banner proudly waving above them. Her joy raising, she feels her heart beating in time with the racing hoof beats, the steady clank of moving armor, and the mantra repeating itself over and over again in her heart: "_You're going home. You're going home. You're going home._"

As they near the army, Elincia sees Ike at the front of it, in deep conversation with someone. She squints her eyes. Someone with long hair... not Titania... certainly not Soren... definitely a woman judging by her bearing... light blue hair, just like Geoffrey's.

Elincia's body seizes up. _No. It cannot be her. She's dead. You're seeing things, you're indulging in wishful thinking again, you're being ridiculous. _She blinks and rubs her eyes, but the phantom of Lucia remains, her head bent towards Ike, her long bangs masking her eyes just as they have done for as long as Elincia has known her.

"We must go faster," she orders the sentry. "I need to speak with her."

"Your highness, this horse is going quite fast enough."

"Sir, do you see that woman speaking with Lord Ike? If you recall her name, you would know in an instant why I must reach her. It is Lady Lucia."

"Lady Lucia? Alive? Y-your highness, I will hasten at once!" He presses the horse harder, and Elincia clings to him, feeling as if she is flying. Soaring, soaring, soaring straight to an answer, a resolution, a happy ending of some sorts.

Lucia looks up as the princess nears, her attention slipping away from Ike and fixing directly on Elincia's face. As her friend pulls astride and slips from the horse, she runs forward and throws her arms open, silent tears running down her fair cheeks.

"Lucia, Lucia, my dear Lucia," Elincia sobs, burying her face against Lucia's shoulder. "Alive! Oh, I had thought the worst! But here you are now, returned to me at last. Oh, Lucia..."

"You thought I would ever forsake my duty to Crimea by dying on you?" Lucia says wryly, soothingly stroking Elincia's hair. "Such little faith! But there, there; do not cry. I have good news for you, if you will listen."

"Good news? Better than seeing you alive and well? I cannot imagine it!"

"You will be glad to hear it. Once I encountered your battalion on the Riven Bridge, I sent Bastian ahead to Delbray to alert Geoffrey and your other retainers that you have returned to Crimea. They are expecting us shortly, and-"

"Geoffrey?" Elincia whispers faintly. "Geoffrey?"

"Yes. You did not know? He survived along with the others and has been living safely in hiding. They have been listening for word of your advancement, and will be glad to join us when we arrive in Crimea."

"Geoffrey..." the princess whispers again, swaying slightly on her feet. Lucia and Ike quickly step forward to steady her before she topples to the ground.

"I'm sorry," Lucia apologizes to Ike. "It was wrong of me to give her all that information at once. I had no idea she believed all of us to be dead."

Ike shakes his head in dismissal. "Don't worry over it. She will be well. And if it is her wish, we will leave for Delbray as soon as the army is healed and rested."

"Yes," Elincia murmurs as she comes to. "It is my wish, my lord Ike. We must rejoin them as soon as we possibly can."

"As long as you rest, too. You've had quite a shock today."

"As you wish. But I will be well."

Sinking against Lucia and Ike's shoulders, she closes her eyes and falls further into this beautiful moment that only a few hours before would have seemed to be an impossible, hopelessly idealistic dream. Lucia. Bastian. Geoffrey. All alive. All alive, thriving, and waiting for her to unite their nation and bring them home. _Home_. Now that they are alive, that word once again has meaning for her. She was right before: home is not a building or a place or even a country. Home is people. Home is him.

O0o0o0o0o0

She first sees him from the cliff-side on the back of her sentry's horse. The battle is still raging below them, but she can see that it is nearly won. Ike and Geoffrey have been performing exceptionally, and she almost fancies that the victory could have been achieved without the assistance of Ike's men that she so adamantly demanded when she learned that her beloved was in danger. Though she is at a distance, she can clearly see that Geoffrey's talent has grown since she has been away. His lance arm is strong and formidable, and no enemy that crosses him can escape the pierce of his weapon as he drives them back from the estate and her other retainers.

"Is it safe to approach closer?" she asks her guard, staring entranced at Geoffrey over his shoulder. "I would like to join up with the others as soon as I possibly can."

"The ballistae have been neutralized, but the enemy general is still on the field, your highness," he answers, shielding his eyes with his hand. "If he knew you were present, he would not hesitate to kill you on the spot. I advise that we stay here for the moment."

"But if we loop around to the side, we will arrive at the estate without riding anywhere near the general."

"Perhaps. You would need to arm yourself, however."

"That is quite all right. My lord uncle and Sir Geoffrey taught me how to wield a blade. If any danger should cross us, I am more than ready to fight."

"I haven't got a sword, your highness. Just a lance and a bow."

"I shall take the bow, in that case."

"But you don't know how-"

"The battlefield is favorable. I will not need to use it. It is merely a precaution, is it not?"

"I suppose so, your highness."

"Then take me closer so that I might see better how Sir Geoffrey is managing."

The sentry obeys, pulling the horse down the cliff and onto the fringes of the field. "Ah, the vanguard is approaching the enemy general," he comments as they descend. "It will not be long until this is over and the Crimean Royal Knights can be reunited."

"A day we have long been dreaming of," she murmurs to herself. She is close enough now that if Geoffrey looks up, he will be able to see her approaching him. He is occupied now fighting off a few of the Daein army's dwindling soldiers, but any second now he will look up and see her, and everything she has been hoping and fighting for will be decided.

Elincia glances to the west. Ike and the Greil mercenaries are making quick work of the hulking general, but a few members of his guard, apparently smart enough to realize that the men surrounding them are superior fighters in every particular, have slipped away to have at the Crimean knights guarding Delbray estate. With these new additions, Geoffrey and his men are a bit more overwhelmed than she cares to see them. With a tight frown, she strings an arrow through the bow the sentry has provided her.

"Your highness?" the guard asks warily, tugging the reigns and stopping their mount.

"Do not worry," she replies, concentrating intently on the back of a cavalier approaching Geoffrey. "I owe him for all that he has ever sacrificed for me. I will not miss." Pulling the bow back as she has so often witnessed Shinnon and Rolf doing in training, she sends up a prayer to the goddess, aims, and fires at her enemy with all the pent up venom and strength she has been collecting over the past few months of sitting uselessly in tents and listening to the sound of death crashing down around her. Everything she has left to give, she gives to him in honor. This is the purpose she has been waiting for.

The soldier falls, her arrow embedded between the blades of his shoulders. Surprised, Geoffrey at last looks up, his eyes fixing first on the bow in her hands and then on her face. His mouth falls slightly ajar, and he shouts some orders to his men before galloping over to meet her where she is waiting for him, her cheeks flushed with a strange power and her eyes shining with desire, the desire to see him and touch him once again as she had once done freely.

Elincia's guard assists her to the ground as Geoffrey reigns in his horse and drops down beside her. They approach each other tentatively at first, studying the emotions of each other's expressions and relearning the features that had haunted them in dreams; the soft, petal-like quality of her mouth, the sincere and authoritative turn of his eyes, the sweet, plunging dimples that reveal themselves on both of their faces whenever they smile. He reaches a hand out as if to press it against her cheek, but hesitates, leaving it there suspended between them. "Elincia," he says levelly, testing the name out on his tongue.

"Geoffrey," she responds instantaneously in a whisper. "Geoffrey."

Elincia is not surprised when he falls to one knee and clutches her hand in his; it a familiar gesture. "You have come to my rescue, my princess," he says to her, his eyes shining earnestly. "I am indebted forever to you."

"I am glad Geoffrey. That means you will be unable to refuse me when I order you to do things properly this time."

He blinks. "Excuse me?"

She falls to her knees beside him, taking his other hand and tenderly enfolding it with hers. "I may have come to your aid today, but you have saved my life a million times over, Geoffrey of Delbray. You have surpassed me in every respect. It is because of you alone that I will be able to restore Crimea, and entirely on your shoulders that I will have strength enough to be queen. If ever you thought yourself to be in any way below me, you have been proven wrong in this moment. I have been nothing without you." She brings his hand to her lips and rests her head humbly against his chest. "I am not the goddess you conjured me to be."

"Really?" he breathes back, lifting her chin upwards so she is no longer turned in against him. "I have seen nothing in the world as beautiful as you are to me in this moment. How can you not be divine?"

"Because I am human to my core. My wants and desires are not of higher things."

"And what is it you want of me?"

"We've been in this situation before. This time I want you to do it properly. No kissing my feet or bringing yourself low before me. None of that ever again." She stares at him boldly, taking his hands and unfolding them against her heart. "We can't hide from whatever this is. It exists within us, whether we want it to or not. If we're going to give into it, we are doing it as equals. You have no choice. I am no goddess. I am just the lucky, blessed woman who had the good fortunate to be beloved by you. It's time you resigned yourself to that fact."

He stares at her for a moment, seeing the determination in her eyes and falling in love more thoroughly than he ever had before. He barely even notices the ethereal beauty, the noble stature that once kept him humbled and aware of his place whenever he was beside her, instead marking the exquisite streak of dirt against her cheek, the frays and tears at the sleeves of her gown, the soft shadows under her eyes, and the heavenly smell of grass and sweat permeating from her skin. She is human, after all. Still princess of Crimea, still meant for great and noble things, but at the same time susceptible to dirt and jagged fingernails and wear and tear just like everyone else. Nothing about her is as inaccessible and untouchable as he once thought; in fact, every inch of her is just begging to touched. He is being begged, and, like she suggested, there is no way for him to refuse to do everything just as properly as she wishes him to.

Oblivious to the fact that the rest of the army is headed their way, Geoffrey slides his hands against her cheeks and kisses her nose, her eyelids, her cheeks, and then, without a moment of hesitation, her smiling lips. With a sigh, she curves into him, sliding into his arms as one would cross the threshold into their home, with a sense of comfort, warmth, and unquestionable completion.

"Oh, I do love being right," Mist sighs dreamily as Ike calls the army to halt so they do not interrupt the princess and her knight. "No one would listen to me, but I knew there was someone else she loved all along."

"Lucky guess," Boyd says gruffly, though eying her with interest. "Or feminine intuition."

"They say experience is the best teacher," she retorts.

"Hey now! You haven't got any experience, have you?" he questions her a little too quickly.

"I can't believe it," Soren mutters to himself as Mist and Boyd needle each other beside him, half glaring at Elincia and Geoffrey and half incredibly grateful for them. "She was faking all of it all along. Typical."

"What was that?" Ike asks, looking on in amusement as Elincia cries happily into Geoffrey's neck when they pull apart from their kiss. "Who's faking what?"

"Oh. Nothing."

Ike shrugs. "Hmm. Any idea why the rest of the army is looking at me as if they are expecting me to explode any second? It's kind of unnerving."

"Don't worry about it," Soren sighs. "They've just had some expectations disappointed. Nothing important."

"They should be glad that the princess is finally happy again," he says in mild disapproval. "It's been too long since we've seen her smile like that."

"And as long as that smile is for Geoffrey's benefit, all is right in the world," Soren concludes, watching with envious eyes as the lover's lips meet again, all of their doubts and fear dispelling with a simple gesture, though one more complex and potent than anything he has ever witnessed before. "You were right, though. There was more in her than I gave her credit for."

"Hmm?"

"Nothing," he says again, tearing his eyes away their kiss and looking anywhere else but at Ike. "Nothing important."


	6. The Ones Who Change Us

**A/N: **Finals are final-ly done! Thank God! Now I can finally do all those things I've been meaning to do, mainly reading books that are in no way related to all the material I've been covering in Brit Lit over the past 4 months! I'm also re-playing the Golden Sun games for GBA. Anybody like those? Ivan is such a cutie :)

Anyhoo, time for a new chapter. Enjoy!

**6. The Ones Who Change Us **(in which a bet is altered, Ike is honest, and Soren is different)

Jorge hums to himself as he melts down one of Ike's broken weapons in the spitting fire, a cheerful little drinking tune he's picked up from Gatrie over the past few months. It is a glorious spring day- a perfect day for some harmless bawdy humming- and what little snow there was in Crimea has melted away, leaving open fields of golden grass just barely spotted by the first flowers of the season. Delbray itself is one of the most idyllic places they've ever camped, even more so than the Apostle's villa in Begnion. Where the Mainal Cathedrahl was imposing and ornate, this little estate has all the charms of the countryside from its flowing brooks to its towering trees of elm which provide shade for the campsite.

Feeling uplifted by the fine surroundings, Jorge sings some of the tune out loud as he works. It's a bit racy in places- no surprise, considering it came from Gatrie- but he's not exactly expecting anyone to burst in on him. Most of his customers are attending a dinner in Elincia's honor hosted by Geoffrey and Bastian back at the estate, and only he and the other merchants are around to mind the camp. Daniel and Muston wouldn't mind the bawd, but there was a fair chance Aimee would, especially considering that she'd been in a sulk lately thanks to the fact that Ike had taken to diving into bushes whenever he came across her, expecting her to force more spicy meat dishes down his throat. Soren really had done his work well.

But, as fate would have it, as soon Jorge begins to belt out the dirty bits with gusto, Aimee stalks in wearing a cat-ate-the-canary smile on her beautiful features. Thankfully she is too occupied with her own thoughts to pay attention to Jorge's antics, so he instantly quits his verses, pretending he had been singing nothing more raunchy than a nursery rhyme.

"Well, well, well, Jorge," she coos, batting her eyelashes flirtatiously. "In a good mood, are we?"

"I'm all right," he replies, eying her suspiciously. "What are you up to? You look altogether too pleased with yourself."

"What am I up to? I'm up to winning bets, that's what I'm up to."

"You're kidding me," Jorge says incredulously. "I definitely would have heard by now if you and Ike were an item. Besides, I thought..." He trails off, shaking his head. "No. No way. You're kidding me."

"Well, I suppose I haven't actually won yet," she amends. "But you most certainly have lost. Haven't you heard the news about Elincia? Everyone's talking about it."

"What about her?"

"She and her knight, Sir Geoffrey, are a pair. They kissed in front of the entire army and everything; Ilyana told me so. She's definitely not with Ike, in any case. So you've lost."

He shakes his head in surprise. "But I bet against you ending up with Ike, didn't I? The thing with Elincia may have been a bust, but I still don't see him falling all over himself to talk to you."

Aimee glares at him coolly. "I remember it word for word. You said I would lose if Ike married Elincia. Well, tough luck for you. He's not going to."

Jorge frowns. He's never lost an extended bet so quickly before, especially not to _Aimee_. "Damn," he mutters. "Guess I'm out of the game."

Her flirtatious grin returns. "But what fun is a bet if there's no competition? You dropping out will take all the fun out of winning Ike in the end. Perhaps I should give you another chance, deary."

Jorge raises his eyebrows. "Don't get over impressed with yourself. Elincia certainly isn't your only rival in regards to Ike."

"Exactly. I'm perfectly aware of the number of people who have designs on him. But Jorge, be honest with yourself. This is _me _we're talking about. Beauty may abound in this camp, but there's no one else quite like me here."

"You've got that right," he adds emphatically.

"So you see. It's inevitable that I'll win him one of these days. That's why I'm more than willing to give you another chance to make a fool of yourself. Pit me against another competitor, and I'll show you just how quickly I'll come out on top again."

"You really are determined to be over confident, huh? This could be interesting." He sets aside his equipment and ponders for a moment. "But if I give you a name, I just know you'll do your best to sabotage them." _Just like I did for you with a little help from Soren_, he adds in his head.

"Jorge! You shame me! Did I ever once do anything against Princess Elincia when your bet was on her side?"

"No, but you're smarter than that. Playing games with the Crimean heir would get you nowhere but in trouble. Anyone else, on the other hand..."

Aimee sighs in annoyance. "Very well. Give the name to Daniel. In the unlikely event you win our bet, he'll vouch for your answer."

"Fine. I'll choose wisely this time."

"Do as you like. You still haven't got a chance against me." With a friendly wink, she flounces out of the tent, her dark hair swinging in a silken train around her.

_A new prospect for Ike,_ he muses to himself, massaging his chin. _That shouldn't be too difficult. There's no shortage of women in this camp, after all. _He picks up a quill and a sheet of paper and begins to scribble absently. _Ike has to be interested in at least _one _of them_.

After a few minutes, he scans over the list and considers his options. A few names are easy to dismiss. Titania's too old, Nephenee never speaks to him, and Calill's already taken. Jill's out due to her obvious crush on Haar, and Astrid too for her own obsession with Makalov. And Ilyana... she would never be able to tolerate Ike's possessive care for his meals. He scratches out these names and sees who he has left. Marcia, Lethe, Mia, Lucia, and Tanith.

"This may be trickier than I thought," he sighs to himself as he considers each option. Lucia and Tanith didn't seem likely, but Ike showed absolutely no interest in the remaining three either. Mia sparred with him from time to time, and they were mercenaries in the same company, but Ike never went out of his way to speak with her except during training. He also maintained small friendships with Marcia and Lethe, but also only talked with them when they were nearby to speak to, or if any of his battle plans regarded them in any way.

Jorge wads up the list and throws it into the fire. _Gatrie has the right scope of Ike_, he thinks to himself blackly. _Still just a pup. Aimee's wasting her time with him. He's just not interested yet._

On the other hand, Jorge realizes, there is always the option that Ike's disinterest applies solely to women. He certainly wouldn't be the first in the camp with different leanings. Jorge's pretty damn sure there's something between Oscar and Kieran-or at least as much of something as Kieran is capable of, what with his obsession over their rivalry and sparring- and he's positive at this point that Reyson has some sort of an understanding with Tibarn. Maybe Ike's one of their kind. Maybe not. In any case, Jorge pulls out another piece of paper and begins to write.

Once again, he crosses out the most unlikely names and surveys what he's left with. Rhys, Sothe, Soren, Volke, and Ranulf. After a few more seconds of pondering, he draws a circle around Soren and Ranulf and crosses out the other names. Bingo. Here were two relationships of Ike's that went deeper than small talk and sparring. Ike respected and trusted them in ways beyond how he regarded the others, and if anyone was going to have an edge in winning him before this conflict was over, it would have to be someone he already loved in a way.

But which one would be best? Ranulf certainly had looks and sex appeal working in his favor, but Soren could boast a much longer friendship with the commander. Besides, it was hard to imagine Ranulf agreeing to be exclusive with anyone. He was much too pleased with the current state of worshipful love he was getting from a large portion of the camp to throw it away for something so binding as _commitment._

"And I would just love to see the look on Aimee's face if little Soren beat her to the prize," Jorge muses to himself with a smile. "That would take her down a notch or two." He takes his pen, crosses out Ranulf's name, and then places it in his pocket.

"Just you wait, Aimee," he chuckles to himself. "I'll make this happen, and you'll live to regret the day you deigned to give me a second chance."

0o0oo0o0o0o

Soren sits in his cot, sniffling. Unlike many of the others, he has no love of springtime. As glad as he is that the snow is melting and that they no longer have to march in freezing temperatures, the wealth of flowers and pollen and warm breezes to blow the flowers and pollen into his nose and eyes has once again turned him into a congested, sneezing, grumpy, useless lump of a being, just as it did every year in the early spring. Normally, this did not bother him much. Back in the fort, he just holed up his room working on paperwork until the congestion passed, and everyone managed quite all right during his absence. But he cannot do that now, not during the war. He is still needed, whether with a throat full of phlegm or not.

He groans to himself and opens up another one of his many ledgers. His pace has been slow, and he's falling behind. He doesn't even know what the next plan of action is, having skipped out on the war council this evening to hide his temporary sickness, and without that knowledge, he isn't sure how to begin deciding what should be purchased and how much of their funds should be used. He could always make a guess, but guessing is cheap, below his dignity. Ike has entrusted him with the position of staff officer, and he isn't about to take that honor for granted by cutting corners in his duties.

He debates going outside to find Titania so she can brief him on all he's missed, but before he can even move a muscle, Ike clomps into his tent holding onto a plate containing a stack of meat about a foot high. His mouth is full, and Soren can see a smudge of sauce on the corner of his lips.

"Gwod emenink," Ike says, taking a stool from the ground and plopping down on it. He chews for a bit and finally swallows, clearing his throat. "Feeling okay?"

"All right," Soren croaks, somewhat surprised. "How did you-?"

"Soren. You, Rhys, and Rolf go through this every year. I'd have to be the world's biggest idiot not to remember."

"Right. And that title already belongs to Boyd," Soren says wryly. "Sorry for missing the meeting tonight."

"It's all right. You were right to stay in bed. You look awful. Here, eat something." Without asking, he places some meat in Soren's open mouth and clamps his lips down. "That's better."

Soren shakes his head in annoyance, but swallows the food anyways.

"I see you're still hard at work," Ike notes, picking up one of Soren's books and absently flicking through it. "You're really something else, you know. Rhys has been sleeping all day and Rolf looks so miserable that Oscar's been trying for hours to put a smile on his face, but you just keep going."

"You depend on me," Soren says defensively. "How could I do any less?"

Ike smiles, his grin lopsided. "Thank you. But I don't want you killing yourself to get things done. Your work is important, but so is your life, Soren."

Soren attempts to object for a moment, but a fierce sneeze stops him short. Ike hands him a handkerchief, and Soren sheepishly takes it. "I'll get some rest as soon as you catch me up on the upcoming battle," he says dourly. "I assume we're going to take Fort Pinnell, but it's going to be a tough battle. You're going to need a strategy."

Ike's smile suddenly disappears. "Right. About that. We need to talk."

"What is it?" Soren asks in alarm, not liking the sudden hardness in his expression.

"During the meeting tonight, Tibarn told me something about the situation at Fort Pinnell. Something I had been... anticipating for a time now. So I realized I couldn't wait around any longer. I brought in Mist and told everyone everything."

Soren tilts his head. "You're being cryptic, Ike. Are you trying to say that you finally got everything that's been bothering you off your chest?"

He nods, but says nothing for a moment. "That's when I noticed you were missing," he states finally. "I wanted you to be there to hear it. I know that I owed the explanation foremost to Mist and Titania, but I couldn't help but think that I owed it you, too. After all, you shared your secret with me even when you didn't want to. How could I not return the favor?"

"You owe me nothing," Soren says firmly, closing the book in his lap and setting it on the ground.

"Yes, I do. That's how friendships work. I don't understand how you can give and give and give without expecting to receive anything from me. I want to balance it out and give you something this time. The truth."

Ike leans back and begins to speak. There is a heaviness to his voice not usually present, and Soren appreciates how much of a struggle this whole thing has been for him. The story Ike tells is almost as bad his own. Elena's death, Greil's madness, the mysterious medallion, the elusive knight encased in black armor, Nasir's betrayal, Leanne's kidnapping... at each event Ike's voice grows more and more troubled, turning hollow and soulless. Soren's heart wrenches. He has always seen Ike as a god, strong and untouchable, immune to the darkness of the world; a false idea, but a comforting one all the same. He never wanted Ike to know the suffering he had known, but now that hope shatters slowly into pieces, leaving the truth exposed. Ike is breakable and hurting. His power to comfort has sapped into misery, and now he is the uncertain one, the one in need of comfort. Rather than Soren needing him, as was the usual case, he is the one who now needs Soren.

The mage obligingly slips his hand through Ike's as the story draws to a close. _I am here_, he thinks as he soothingly draws the pad of his thumb up and down the lwngth of Ike's finger. _I may not be capable of much, but I will keep you safe at any cost._

"So," Ike says in conclusion, "Reyson and Tibarn believe that Ashnard is going to use Leanne and the medallion to engulf Tellius in chaos. Thankfully, Leanne won't be able to open the medallion, so that gives us time. However, Ashnard isn't going to let us just storm into the capital while he's puzzling it out. There's going to be something powerful standing in our way at Fort Pinnell, and Tibarn has already determined for me who are next foe is."

Soren freezes, an uncomfortable shiver racing down his back. "The Black Knight," he whispers. "And you are going to insist on fighting him aren't you?"

Ike nods. "It has to end like this. By killing my father, he determined my course."

"But you can't! He's too strong, and you wouldn't be safe on your own!"

"I'm stronger than you think," Ike says reprovingly. "And it has to be me who fights him. His armor is blessed by the goddess, and only Ragnell will be able to penetrate it."

Soren shakes his head. "Ike, please. I understand your need for revenge, but I cannot allow you to risk your life. If you die... what am I... what are any of us to do?"

"I'm not going to die. I can feel it. I'm ready for him. He has to pay for what he's done."

"Ike..."

Ike smiles finally, regaining the buoyancy he'd had before telling his story. "It's kind of funny listening to you try to boss me around with your voice all nasally like that. But as charming as it is, it's not going to work. I'm dead set on this, Soren. Nothing is going to change my mind." He sets down his meat platter- his dinner, presumably- and leans forward. "But how about this. You know I never break promises, huh? So I'm going to promise you that when this all over, you and I will go on a little vacation. We'll do anything you want to do. A fishing trip or maybe a tour of all the libraries of Crimea; whatever you want. If you hold me to a promise, I guarantee I'll come out alive so I won't disappoint you."

Soren's face flushes and he has to turn away so Ike won't see it. "You shouldn't make promises you can't keep," he whispers.

"I'm not going to. You have to trust me. I'm ready for this."

There is too much conviction in his voice for Soren to doubt him any longer. He turns back, his blush half hidden by his curtain of dark hair. "Okay, then. Promise me."

"I promise you." He squeezes Soren's hand and releases it. "You know something?" he muses. "There's something different about you."

Soren shrugs. "What, do you mean the runny nose, watery eyes, or my voice sounding like a dying animal?"

"That's not what I meant. It's something else... I can't really describe it. You've been worried about my safety ever since I met you, even more than Mist and Titania. But now it feels it different than it did before. Like you're worrying for different reasons."

"I..." Soren bites his lip and looks away.

"Soren. You don't have to say anything. If you want me to figure it out, you'll let me one day. There's no hurry."

"You-" But his response is cut short by Ike forcing more of his dinner down Soren's throat. His mouth full, all he can do is sputter and glare.

"That's enough," Ike says kindly. "We'll talk about Fort Pinnell tomorrow when you're all done sniffling. For now, just go to sleep. You'll probably be back in business in the morning."

Soren sighs in resignation and sinks all the way into his cot. "Fine. But just in case you've forgotten, I'm in charge of making the battle strategy. And it's all going to be centered around keeping you safe."

Ike merely laughs and lifts himself off the stool. "Goodnight, Soren. It should be an interesting morning."

0o0o0o0o0o

The moment of fate has come.

Blood is rushing through his head, making it impossible to think, to move, to stand. It takes all the will and dignity in him to remain on his feet, to breathe in and out slowly without gulping in over and over again and drowning in the air. All he can see is the red cape in front of him as it draws away, flapping a farewell as it slips into darkness.

"Titania," Soren chokes out. "You have to let me go with him."

Titania shakes her head sadly, her own face drawn and pale. "He ordered us to stay. We can't disobey him. This is his choice to make."

"But if he dies-"

"He knows well enough from all my lecturing that if he feels he is going to lose, he has to flee immediately. I know it's hard, but we must wait. He needs us to-" But she stops her speech upon hearing a little wail coming from behind them. Boyd had been attempting to hold Mist back from the room so she wouldn't know what was going on, but she has somehow gotten loose from him and is running to them, her eyes burning with a look more intense than they were used to seeing from her.

"Ike is in there, isn't he?" she thunders at a volume impressive for her size and age. "With him? The knight that killed my father?"

Titania tries to keep her face a mask, but her expression betrays her. Mist's eyes widen and her hand flies to her mouth to cover her horror. Her shock lasts only a second. A moment later she is running through the door, her hands clutched tightly around her Heal staff and her voice calling her brother's name in a pitiful sob.

Boyd runs forward to catch her, but Titania holds him back warily. "Let her go," she sighs, the lines in her forehead increasing in depth. "She has the right... it was her father, too."

"I see how it is," Soren says glumly, anger momentarily returning his senses to him. He turns sharply away and begins to pace rabidly across the floor. As hard as it is for him to think, he forces himself to do it for his own sanity's sake. He has to be rational. He has to remember Ike as he had looked that morning, all suited up in his armor, his hands gripped firmly on Ragnell, his eyes hungry for closure. Ike had been right; he was ready. Soren had never seen someone appear so confident and sure in the face of such an uncertain destiny, and it's hard for him when he remembers that beautiful image to despair completely. Ike couldn't die, he just couldn't. Soren would sooner see all of Tellius in the grip of Ashnard's chaos than see Ike fall to anyone's blade.

As he paces he senses someone approaching him, but he pays them no mind. He knows from the melodramatic sighing and clucking that it's Stefan, and he's not in the mood to deal with the pesky swordsman at the moment. In fact, he's almost tempted to release some Elwind on him to liberate some of his anxiety and temper. If not for the amount of witnesses in the room, he'd do it in a heartbeat.

Tired of waiting around for Soren to comment on his presence, Stefan sighs loudly and shakes his head. "I do not understand you at all," he declares, trying to keep up with the mage's pacing.

"Join the club," Soren says sourly. "There's fun in being an enigma."

"Hmph. You instruct any number of men in taking the battlefield on a regular basis, knowing any one of your company may die. This is not hard for you to do. It is your occupation. But when it is one life in jeopardy rather than thousands, you nearly wear down a room in your anxiety. Why is that?"

"Oh, I don't know. Why don't you tell me?" Soren snaps sarcastically. "Aren't I supposed to be in love with the commander, according to you?"

"Yes, I can still see it in your eyes," he says coolly. "But I'd have thought your astounding logic would kick in by now. You're smart enough to know that he will die. Oh, maybe not today, but long before you ever will. So what does it matter to you if he survives this encounter? His life is just a fleeting second compared to yours. No matter when it will happen, it will still happen before you are prepared to face it."

"You obviously have very little emotions or scruples of your own, so I don't expect you to understand," Soren retorts in disgust. "You're a bitter, miserable man, and all you want is to drag me down with you."

"All I want is to understand," Stefan protests sharply. "You're not like me and the others. There's something wrong with you. You're not supposed to connect with humans, or laguz, or anybody. They turn on you. You're supposed to stick to your own, and deal with that bad card life has given you. Why are you different? Why have you deviated from your path?"

"Because I went ahead and told Ike everything, and he didn't turn his back on me. That's why. Instead of hiding in the desert, I found something worth living for, okay? So maybe I have every right to be worried and anxious if the one person who keeps me from being a dried up, hateful shell like you is putting his life on the line. Maybe I have every reason to want him to live."

Stefan stares at him, not wounded, but thoughtful. He takes his hand forward and presses it against Soren's Brand for a moment, then slowly lets it fall. "You could be exactly what we need," he murmurs, thinking out loud. "You're right, in a sense. We are weak and bitter. If you have the answer we're looking for, by all means you are welcome to come to us and share it. Perhaps you are the sort of Branded we all need to be."

Soren frowns tightly. "I'm not going to be some inspirational preacher for you, and I'm already exactly where I need to be, thank very much. If you want answers, go and find them for yourself. It's not as if you don't have the time."

"Yes, I have time. But it is a very hard thing to change your mind about something you've believed in for all your life. Being so young, perhaps you haven't learned that yet."

"Age is nothing. I've experienced enough to learn more than you know."

"Undoubtedly." Stefan smiles feebly and sits down on the cold stone ground. "Come, join me. You're not helping him by working yourself up like this. Besides, you look as if you'll pass out if you stand another second."

"No," Soren says firmly, resuming his pace. "I can't sit still. I have to think." _Remember the way he looked, _he reminds himself, clouding out Stefan's words._ Remember how he promised you something when he returned. Hold on to that, hold him to it. Don't let him out of your grasp, you can't afford to lose this, you'll never get it back. Hold him to his promise, and he'll come back._

He repeats these mantras in his head as Stefan follows him with his eyes, a curious expression on his face. He still isn't sure what any of it meant. He'd met a lot of Branded in his day, but none of them had ever been like this. They were like him: jaded, angry, and resigned. Sure Soren was like that as well in many of his particulars, but in him there was something else. Another element that composed him that the rest of them had either forsaken or had been born without. He was capable of love: devotional, unconditional, selfless love. It wasn't supposed to be in their nature, but he had done it somehow. He had overcome the curse of his blood by giving into the emotion that drew both sides of his being into one.

Stefan continues to watch as the minutes pass. Soren maintains his circuit doggedly, his eyes blank and unseeing, but his mind going in circles, clinging to words of hope. The others join him slowly; Titania first, her eyes nervous and pleading, and then Boyd, no longer resembling the overgrown child his behavior often reflected. They stop momentarily when Nasir comes bursting in, deftly running faster than all of them as they try to catch him and keep him from Ike and Mist, whom he had so easily betrayed to the enemy back in Daein. He slips through in spite of their efforts, heading straight into the room where Ike and the Black Knight are waiting. This sends Soren into a fever of emotion as he restlessly stares at the door, held back firmly by Titania. Stefan can now hear some of the words spilling from his head out of his mouth. _Remember... don't... hold on... please, for the love of the goddess, pleasepleaseplease._

Suddenly, the world shifts. The building rumbles beneath them, knocking a good number of the soldiers off their feet. They cling and throw themselves onto pillars for balance, but the quake increases its force. The stones of the wall seem to be crumbling down around them as if the fort had decided to collapse in on itself.

Stefan rises to his feet. He watches as Nasir runs in, holding the dragon girl, Ena, in his arms. "Run for it!" he yells, and no one thinks twice about obeying him, traitor though he is.

He watches as Mist flies next through the door, and as Boyd catches her in his arms and run her from the room as quickly as he is able.

He watches as Soren remains rooted to the ground, his eyes focused single mindedly on the door.

He watches as Ike finally comes through, his presence so bright it's almost visibly luminous, blinding, glorious.

He watches as Ike lifts Soren onto his shoulders as he flees. The look on their faces. Ike: determined, protective, somber. Soren: pure, honest, and unrestrained relief.

Then, understanding for the first time, he runs.

0o0o0o0o0o

Soren lays on the ground around the fallen castle, panting. "You kept your promise," he wheezes in exhaustion. "Noble to the last, aren't you?"

"Is this the gratitude I get?" Ike wonders, trying to sound lighthearted. The blood pouring from his wounds and dripping from Ragnell make him particularly unconvincing. "I told you I was going to. I'm a man of my word."

"You certainly are, but forget that for now. Let me heal your wounds." Soren quickly rises to his knees. "You look ghastly. Mist?"

Mist, too tired and disoriented to be of any real use, obligingly hands her staff to Soren's care. Soren lifts it up, focusing all of his energy into it. It glows a deep blue, and Ike's injuries neatly knit themselves together again.

"Thanks," Ike murmurs, closing his eyes. "You know, I could really go for a long nap and a few cuts of beef right now."

"That's all you can think of now? Food?" Soren mouth twitches in disbelief.

"Well, I like food. It might take my mind off all the pain I'm in right now."

At the word 'pain' Soren's mouth twitches again. "I'll order everyone to get you back to camp right away."

"Hnm. In a moment. Just a second... I need to... catch my breath." He sinks to his knees beside Soren, resting his head heavily upon his shoulder. "You know what else I'm thinking of? That vacation were going to take together when we retake Crimea. I could really use it right now."

"Me too," Soren echoes, unable to keep himself from giving Ike's hair one delicate and soothing stroke. "I don't want to have to go through that ever again. It was horrible."

"Mhmm," Ike agrees sleepily into Soren's neck. Then, as if talking to himself, he says in absent murmur, "There really is something so different to you now, Soren. One day, I'll have to convince you to show me what has changed."

0o0o0o0o0o0o

**A/N: **.Fan girl sigh of contentment. Awww. Up next will be THE CONCLUSION to the POR section. Ike has some mad day saving to do! Good luck Ikey-poo!


	7. The Ones Who Bring Peace

**A/N:** Ahh, I love break! I hope all of you who are off of school are enjoying it as much as I am! Free time is such a beautiful thing!

All right, time for the POR conclusion. Somebody's going down, and it ain't gonna be Ike!

**7. The Ones Who Bring Peace** (in which Elincia comes home, the hero does some day saving, and nothing is over)

_Home..._

Elincia stands at the foot of the courtyard, her heart bursting with life. It's strange that this sight should make her happy, as ravaged as it is. The cobblestone paths she ran across with Lucia when they were children are broken and choked with weeds, the flowers in the garden wilted and brown, the grand marble fountain where she had once sat with Geoffrey chipped and glazed with moss. Ashnard hadn't just stolen the palace from the Crimean royal family; he had consumed it. He had swallowed it whole, corrupted it, choked the breath of life from the beautiful grounds where once life had thrived. Just as he would do to Tellius if they permitted him to survive the day.

And there the Mad King himself stands, an imposing figure on the stairs leading up to her father's palace. Ashnard, the very cancer killing her gardens, her birthright, her pure memories of this place. But still she is happy; as sickening as it is, she cannot shake the feeling. Her mind clears the signs of neglect and abuse from the courtyard, trims back the untamed hedges, and clears the scum and growth from the fountain's bowl. She can see herself belonging here again, though not in the same way as before. Her father and mother are gone, as is her Uncle Renning, and she herself is not the childish little princess she had once been. No, this palace is waiting for her new life. It is waiting for whatever she, Geoffrey, Lucia, Bastian, and all her other loyal retainers will bring to it from their new experiences: the battles they have fought, the love they have found.

She isn't going to let Ashnard steal that hope from her. She'd rather die than lose any of this ever again.

Elincia feels Geoffrey and Lucia step up beside her, taking her arm at either side. They say nothing for a moment, instead joining her in her silent study of the palace grounds. Like her, they find happiness in the place despite the black clad soldiers standing in their gardens, trampling the roses under their careless feet as they prepare to launch their defense. Every nook and cranny of the ground is filled with their memories, the echoes of their laughter, their blood and sweat and tears. It belongs to them, not Daein, not Ashnard. Having such a strong tie to the land, they cannot fail in winning it back.

"Your majesty?" Lucia whispers solemnly after a time, giving her friend's hand an affectionate squeeze. "General Ike is waiting for your word to deploy our men. Are you ready?"

"I..." She looks down at her feet, down at the cobblestone. At her word, it will be awash with blood, stained once again with death and hatred. She cannot bear the thought, but she finds she can bear it more than Ashnard standing in her father's place in front of the palace doors. The thought of the sacrifices that will be made is less repugnant to her now that she is sacrificing right beside her men, the people who've put their trust in her.

"Elincia. This it. After this, there will be no blood," Geoffrey murmurs to her, as if reading her thoughts. "There will be no more fear or abuse of our people. With your return, you will bring everything back to life."

"_We_ will," she corrects him, a smile briefly touching her lips. "I cannot do it without you, dear one."

He returns her smile. "Of course. I am bound to your side for as long as you need me. At your word, I will drive these parasites from our home and give you my hand as you ascend your throne. I will lay down my life, if necessary-"

"Oh, Geoffrey. The last thing I need you to do right now is lay down your life. In fact, I order you not to die. Disobey, and there will be consequences."

He laughs in surprise. "I know. The consequence is that I will no longer be at your side in body. That will make you sad, and it is my wish to never grieve you again. So I will live, since that is your wish. I will do all I can to make sure that I am never the cause of the tears you cry or the pain in your heart."

Her heart grows stronger at his words. She is frightened by the battle to come, of what might be won or lost as they make their way to the monster waiting for them at the doors of their future, but nothing is worth giving into that fear. There is too much to live for, too much hope, too many things she is anticipating once Ashnard has been disposed of and Daein has been removed. There is the promise of Geoffrey. Of sharing this place with him, raising a family, growing old. Her fear would take all of these things away from her if she succumbed to it, and Elincia is done with having things taken away from her because she is too powerless and weak to hold onto them. No more.

She releases Geoffrey and Lucia and steps forward to Ike, her eyes burning with determination. "My lord Ike?"

"Princess Elincia?" His fingers curl around Ragnell, his muscles taught in anticipation. Even though she no longer fancies herself in love with him, she feels a moment of extreme affection for him, for all he's done for her and her country. He really is the best of men. Not the man she particularly wanted, but noble and good all the same.

She reaches out to him and rests her hand on his shoulder for a moment. "Ready the troops. It's time."

Ike nods once, and, to her surprise, places his hand over hers in a gesture of assurance. His hands are covered in callouses and scars, some more recent than others. His blood lingers in the soul of Crimea as well, and she realizes for the first time that this victory means just as much to him as it does to her. For different reasons, certainly, but he too has many things hinging on this battle, each depending on his survival.

"I'll give the word," Ike says, releasing her hand. "And Elinica?"

"Yes, my lord Ike?"

"We'll win this for you. I promise."

She smiles for a moment, watching as he brandishes his blade. "I know you will, my lord Ike. You always have."

0o0o0o0o0o

Soren is glad to be the tactician during times like these. It's not easy work most days, and he certainly puts up with his fair share of annoyances. Shinon usually thinks his plans are worthless and insists that he could do a better job, Aimee gives him hell whenever he tries to make purchases at her shop, Kieran rarely pays mind to his battle formations and ends up trying to single-handedly defeat everyone on the field, and so on. He's had a fair share of headaches over the years and has spent more than one sleepless night making the budget stretch to fit their needs, pouring over maps, and considering every single warrior's numerous strengths and weaknesses.

But it's all worth it, for moments like this. He'd give up months and months of sleep in order to arrange the chessboard of a battle as important as this one. Having a say in who does what and which part of the field they are assigned to is everything when Ike's success depends on it, but, more importantly, it means that he can place himself by Ike's side during the battle whenever the situation calls for it. And this situation, more so than the others, does.

He isn't as worried about Ike's death as he was before. Ike's successful battle with the Black Knight had alleviated his fears, and now he felt, though he didn't care to be presumptuous, that their victory was certain. Ike had grown merciless with his blade, and Ashnard would be shown no sympathy. One way or another- perhaps because the goddess blessed their cause more than his- he would fall today, and all of it would be over. Well, not _over_. Too much had happened for anything to go back to how it had been, but they would at least be able to move forward. The constant battles would cease, at the very least.

His confidence in him aside, Soren still isn't quite masochistic enough to let Ike venture out alone. Waiting for him to defeat the Black Knight without even being able to watch or interfere had been torture enough for one lifetime, and he isn't going to put himself through it again. His strategy for this battle is to tail Ike wherever he goes, his Elwind and Heal staff poised for action at all moments. Just in case. Ike is strong, but anything can happen: a stray arrow, an unexpected bolt of lightning cast at a distance, a mindless Feral One leaping out from the shadows. Something so small could destroy everything Soren's life is centered on in an instant. He has to be vigilant.

But over a year's worth of battles has taught Ike to be vigilant as well. Soren's precautions are barely necessary in the end. His blade work is executed flawlessly, and no one can touch him. Even the strongest among them falls to Ragnell's sting, and with Soren at his back and the others approaching from the sides, he is never without protection. They have so long prepared for this moment, so insistently thirsted for this victory, that they hardly have to think twice about what they are doing. The army is a fluid union, aware now of its strengths and its weak spots, and it has grown too intelligent and capable to fall. The Daein army, no more than a band of brute men with no idea of the cause they are fighting for, cannot stand in comparison.

And Ashnard simply remains in front of the palace on the back of his mount, watching his army crumple in amusement. Nothing matters to him. Unlike Soren and Ike and all the others, he has no one but himself to fight for. He even seems thrilled at the prospect that Ike will reach him for a fight, taking all of his men down with him. Of course, he is under the false conception that he will be the one to walk away from the battle alive, but still, his disinterest in the battle disgusts Soren. Not because it barbaric and inhuman, but because he realizes that this could have been him if not for Ike. He could have been the one watching apathetically as the world fell apart, all because his heart was ignorant of love.

Relief washes over him before he can suppress it. Cynical as he is, he doesn't want to be a monster like the one they are approaching. Love is a weakness, a vulnerability, a mind numbing, incapacitating, and capricious emotion, but it's humanizing. If anything, it keeps him from being the worst his heart has the potential to make him become.

Ike turns for a moment to face him. Most of the enemies nearby have been taken care of, and the palace and Ashnard are close by. The battle will be over soon; they both realize that they don't have much time.

"Soren, when I go up there, you have to stay back," Ike commands, his mouth set in a hard line. "His battle is with me, but he's not a fool. He wants to win. If that entails murdering you or anyone else to distract me, he won't hesitate to do it."

"But I have to heal-"

"I know," Ike interrupts, his voice wisely betraying no emotion. "I know I'm not going to get out of this one without a few sizable wounds. We discussed this. Elincia and Mist will take care of whatever healing needs to be done because they can quickly get out of the way if need be. I should be fine with their help. You don't have to worry about me."

"But-"

"I know!" Ike repeats forcefully. "But don't do it. Don't even think about it. I'm not going to let you die. Not for me."

"Then for who?" Soren asks bitterly, slamming his staff against the palm of his hand.

"No one. Not for anyone or anything. I'm not going to let you die. Period. In fact, I don't even want to see you again until Ashnard is dead."

Ike looks to the left of the field where Oscar, Kieran, Gatrie, Ranulf, Stefan, and Lethe are taking care of some Feral Ones, shakes his head, and then turns to the right where Titania, Zihark, Muarim, Rolf, and Marcia are terrorizing a group of mages and healers. "Go on and give Titania's group a hand, okay? It'll be over before you know it. And... please don't argue this. Please."

Soren studies him for a moment, and finally nods when he sees Ike's fists clenching and unclenching at his sides, a sign of internal struggle. For a moment he believes without doubt that Ike doesn't want to let him go any more than he wants to leave; he is doing it to protect him because he, in some manner or another, loves Soren above all others. In another moment, Soren dismisses this completely. _It's because I'm an anchor, a burden,_ Soren corrects himself. _Mist and Elincia can help him, so what use does he have for me?_

With a sound halfway between anguish and anger, Soren takes his leave of Ike and heads down the path to where Titania and the others are still fighting. He can tell that he won't be of much use to them either. Most of the mages have fallen, and the main annoyance that remains are the healers that are somehow under the impression that they will finish off the armor plated Crimeans by hitting them repeatedly with staves.

One of the healers, apparently realizing that clubbing Titania is getting him nowhere, breaks off from the group and runs for Soren. Almost an intelligent maneuver considering Soren is only wearing robes, and thus a few whacks to the gut would leave him easy prey, but at the same time rather stupid considering the mage's wind tomes could easily take him out at a distance. Soren pulls opens his book and begins chanting the spell, but the healer, instantly wising up, dives out of the way of the spell, scrambles to his feet, and launches himself in Soren's direction, the staff aimed at his head.

"So this is how you want to play it?" Soren grumbles, sidestepping the healer's blow and kicking his feet out from under him so he falls when he tries to land. Once the healer is safely on the ground, Soren snatches the staff from his hands and slams it across the healer's face, knocking him out. "Idiot."

He considers making a finishing blow, although it isn't really necessary- healers without staves are hardly threats, especially when unconscious- but the thought disappears instantly from his mind when he realizes what kind of staff he's stolen from the healer. _A Physic. _Practically a sign of divine intervention. If Ike didn't want him anywhere near Ashnard, fine. With this staff he wouldn't even have to be within the Mad King's sight-line to be of use.

He looks up the stairs to see how things are progressing. There are only a few scattered soldiers left alive, and those are only seconds away from death at best. The area around Ashnard is arranged just a planned: Elincia and Reyson are circling above him at a safe distance, prepared to fly if he should move his mount to meet them, Mist is lingering nearby on her horse, also prepared to flee if need be, and Ike is facing him directly, Ragnell at the ready and Tibarn carefully covering his back.

"Well, well, well! Delightful! The Hawk King and Gawain's son have come to kill me," Ashnard crows loudly, his voice ringing across the courtyard. "I had hoped this day would come. I am interested in testing your strength. Both of you!"

Ike doesn't bother to hold back his disgust. "You'll find my strength to be enough to kill you and end your reign of terror once and for all. Your life ends today."

To Soren's surprise, Ashnard simply shrugs at this remark. "Very well. If I am to be cut down by you, then I have well earned my death just as my father earned his when I cut him down years ago. This is how the world should be. If I live, this is the world I will make."

"Luckily for the world, you're not going to have that chance," Ike says earnestly. He lifts his blade. "At your ready."

The battle begins. and all eyes turn to the hero and his enemy. Ashnard is such a huge and terrible presence that Ike looks like a flea beside him, but these differences in size surprisingly help Ike more than they hurt him. The Mad King is so burdened by the heaviness of his robes, the weight of his sword, and the hulking mass of his mount that he cannot nearly match the speed of Ike's work. The general strikes quickly and falls back, and Ashnard is slow in jerking his wyvern back in avoidance. All he can do is rely on his power, which is, of course, extraordinary. His blows cut Ike deeply and would make quick work of him if not for Soren off unseen in the distance, releasing the magic from his Physic as soon as Gurgurant makes contact with Ike's skin.

Elincia looks down from the sky in amazement. She was planning on diving her pegasus below to Ike and darting back up once he was healed, but somehow the hero is healing himself without any outside help. Mist certainly hasn't moved an inch, and Rhys is busy mending some of the warriors severely wounded early in the battle. "Is this some miracle of the goddess?" she wonders out loud as the blue glow time and time again envelopes Ike and heals his wounds. "Is Ashera blessing our mission herself?"

"I don't think so," Reyson answers, rejoining her in the sky. Tibarn had just given Ashnard a firm peck to the head and then proceeded to nearly unseat him from his mount, and Reyson had just finished swooping down to renew the Hawk King's stamina. "I'm pretty sure I just saw Soren down there with one of the staves you beorc use to heal at a distance."

"A Physic? But Aimee was unable to find one for us to use!"

"He probably got it off an enemy. Very fortunate! Ike was very worried about putting you in danger, so this is an excellent solution."

Tears of gratitude well up in Elincia's eyes. "Soren is protecting me and Mist! He's always been so cold to me, but he really does want us to be safe. Oh, my lord Soren!"

"Er, I doubt his intentions are that noble," Reyson objects guiltily. "It's probably Ike he's thinking of."

"That doesn't make sense. Ike would have been fine. He had us to help him."

Reyson shakes his head quickly, reminding himself that Elincia cannot read emotions as well as he can. "How can I explain? Hmm... Princess, isn't there someone that can protect you better than anyone else can? Someone you'd trust your life with more than you would anyone else?"

"Geoffrey," she says instantly.

"Yes. That's how it is with Soren and Ike. Soren doesn't think anyone else can watch after Ike quite like he can."

"Oh," she says, understanding immediately. She wants to ask him more, but his attention has turned back to the battle below them.

"Goddess! What is Ike doing? Is he... throwing his blade?" Reyson quickly soars out of the way, and Elincia follows just as Ragnell pierces the sky. They watch in amazement as the sword tumbles back to the ground and Ike catches it in his hands, somersaults in the air, and slams it against Ashnard's chest. Blood bursts forth, falling down to the ground like rain and showers the cobblestone path. The blood of a fatal blow.

Miles below, Soren's hands freeze against the Physic. Everyone freezes. Time seems to stop. No one can move or think or breathe. They wait for Ashnard to move, but he too is frozen, his hands stationary against the wound opening brightly by his heart. The only thing with any sort of movement is the blood pouring out from him, covering the ground beneath in a scarlet pool.

Then, suddenly, Gurgurant falls from his hands and clatters to the ground. In another moment, Ashnard slides off his mount and falls down beside his sword, his hands breaking his fall. His shoulders tremble, almost as if he is crying. Soren takes a step forward so he can see the scene with more clarity, but stops in his tracks when a sound issues from the fallen king.

Not sobs. Laughter.

"Ha ha ha ha!" the Mad King barks with as much power as his dying voice allows him. "Excellent! Even better than I thought it would be! Even without the help of your little friends, you would have been too much for me, son of Gawain. A fine way to die..."

"You're disgusting," Ike snaps, dropping Ragnell to the ground. "You have nothing to be proud of. There is nothing honorable about your life and death. Just end it. Give up. There's no one here that believes in anything that you have to say."

"It doesn't matter," Ashnard groans, his voice fading. "Everything is already in motion. The world you knew... can't... last... long. It can't be... stopped." And with that, he sinks into the blood, his body motionless.

Everyone remains frozen for a moment, and then suddenly they burst into action. Elincia flies down to the palace, Geoffrey and Lucia chase after Elincia, Ena runs for Ashnard's corpse, Tibarn flies up to Reyson, and Soren makes a break for Ike. Ike is waiting there, his eyes focused on the king at his feet. His expression is pinched and angry, but there is something in his eyes. Soren can see it plain as day. Relief. Happiness that everything is over. Despite the Mad King's final words, he believes that it is finished. That they can finally live in peace.

Soren drops the Physic and hastens to Ike's side. Without looking, just instinctively sensing his presence, the commander extends his hand and waits for Soren to take it. There are blood smears all over it, but the mage takes it anyways, drawing in the warmth, the strength, the _life_.

"It's over," Ike murmurs, mostly to himself. "We won." He turns and watches as Elincia, Lucia, and Geoffrey dash around the courtyard like barbarians, hugging the trees, reverently touching the palace walls, sobbing into the mangled looking flowers. A grin slowly rises on his face. "I would do it again. A million times over. For them."

"You're a sentimental fool," Soren chides, but his heart isn't in it. "We're mercenaries, but you always forget to factor the money into it as much as the cause."

Ike's grin broadens. "So much time has passed, and the world has practically turned inside out, and you're still lecturing me about the same things you were at the beginning, Soren."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be. It's comforting. I don't want everything to change, you know. It makes the old times seem farther away." He looks down at the body and the blood at his feet and his smile fades. "I don't want everything to lead back to this."

"It won't," Soren assures him, his voice breaking slightly. "I won't let-"

"I know you won't. But listen. Don't wear yourself out trying to bring the company back to how it was. I need... I need these experiences. I can survive this. I can survive returning without my father being there. I can survive knowing how my mother died and what hatred exists in the world. We can't erase any of it."

"I know," Soren agrees. He presses the thumb of his free hand against his Brand. You just can't purge yourself of the things that define who you are. They linger on, they shape you, they hound at your footsteps no matter how hard you run from them. A lesson he has already learned and resigned himself to.

Hands clasped, they both continue to stare down at Ashnard, the smug smile still on his unmoving lips.

A sense of foreboding shivers down Soren's spine. _This isn't over_, he thinks to himself uneasily, the dead body of the king laughing at the bleakness of their future. _It may barely have even begun_.

0o0o0o0o0o

_It's over_.

Aimee sits in the caravan, her knees tucked up against her chest and her arms wrapped around them tightly. Muston drives the team forward, whistling a happy tune, completely oblivious to her pain. Or perhaps he knows, but doesn't care. That's the most likely answer. He's probably glad to pull her away from her hero so she'll stop talking about him. So she'll forget.

"I can't forget," she mutters to herself angrily. "There will never be anyone like him ever again."

"Hmm?" Jorge stirs beside her, half asleep. "What are we talking about?"

"She's mourning the loss of Ikey-poo," Daniel answers. He's been more awake than his brother, already at work on the lance he was making for Sigrun, whom he has a somewhat obvious crush on. "She thinks he's divine and wishes we had stayed in Crimea so that she could continue to stalk him at her leisure."

"The money called, Aimee," Muston explains kindly. "The Apostle wanted us to upgrade the arsenal of the Holy Guard. How could I say no?"

"I could have said it for you," she whines. "I didn't even get to win the bet, and I was so close too!"

Daniel snorts, but Jorge sympathetically pats her head. "Hey. I didn't either. We should have had the foresight to make it earlier. We conveniently forget the fact that the war would end sooner or later."

"Hmph. I don't want to go to Begnion." She uncurls her arms from around her legs and slowly stretches them out. They're throbbing; she's been pouting for quite some time now. The shock of leaving Crimea, leaving _Ike_ behind had overcome her. She hadn't seen it coming. She'd thought the war would go on and on, and even when Crimea was won for Elincia's sake, it would still linger somehow. That the army would still be together, because that was how they had been for more months than she could count.

Jorge puts a comforting arm around her. "I bet it's not really over," he whispers conspiratorially. "It'll be back before we know it. And then... and then the bet will be back on."

She brightens up. "You think so?"

"Of course." He rolls his eyes. "You and Ike are 'meant to be,' right? And what's meant to be will always find a way, according to you."

"Right!" She grins, tucking a strand of hair behind her ears. "He'll wait for me, I know he will."

"That's more like it," he says encouragingly. He closes his eyes, half dozing off again. As much as he'll miss the entertainment of their bet, he's actually glad to be getting away. In time, he hopes Aimee will revert back to the woman he remembered. Still loud, obnoxious, and ridiculous, but not rambling on in sentences where every other word was 'Ike'. He could go without _that _for awhile.

Aimee, of course, doesn't want to revert back to anything. Her mission remains in the forefront of her mind: seek atonement, find peace, mend the past. Ike is still her chosen salve, the only thing good and comforting enough to heal the old wound. She can't abandon that hope, even as they abandon Crimea for Begnion, leaving her hero, her kind and giving warrior, far behind.

_This can't be over yet_, she hums to herself, feeling encouraged. _That would be a sloppy ending. Too many ties left undone. Too many things unresolved. We have to be going back to him one day. I can feel it._

A smile lighting her angelic face, she at last gives into her aching limbs and the drowsiness nagging in the back of her head and curls up between Daniel and Jorge, ready to sleep until her life resumes and _he_ returns and she can properly reawaken.

0o0o0o0o0o

**A/n:** All right! Next up will be a bit of interlude covering what Ike, Soren, Elincia, Geoffrey, Aimee, and Jorge are up to during the three before RD launches. That should't be up until after Christmas, so now would be the best time to wish you all happy holidays. May it drag on so we never have to return to school!


	8. Interludes

**A/N: **Just got back from vacation yesterday! I had a wonderful holiday season and ended up getting two new games for my Wii that I am extremely excited about. Can't wait to try them out!

Anyhoo, time for the short in between POR and RD section. I wanted each section to have a unifying theme, and I was very inspired by Blow Up the Outside World when writing this (any Soundgarden fans out there?) Next section up will begin RD. I know RD is a massive, massive game, but I'm going to do what I did with POR and only cover certain events that I find particularly interesting and plot advancing. Most of you should know the genuine story line, so do forgive me for not explaining every single battle/occurance in the game. I will pick up the story with Elincia's Crimean woes and Ike returning to help with the Laguz Alliance which are the areas most relevant to Elincia, Soren, and Aimee's stories.

Enjoy!

**8. Interludes**

**The Outside World**

Elincia rests her head on her goose feather pillow, a headache nursing behind her right eye. Now that the festivities and feasts are long over and the first anniversary of her coronation as Queen of Crimea is fast approaching, her duties have quickly tried and overwhelmed her, taxing her strength and durability more than they have ever been taxed before. The nobles of the wealthy houses are relentless taskmasters, and nothing the newfound queen does ever pleases them. They are happy enough to have a woman with genuine royal blood once again ruling the tattered nation, but that she comes with a package of progressive ideas, preferential feelings for the laguz, and a greater love for common folk than her noble advisers is not at all to their liking. They work her hard as if to beat the foolishness out of her, and though she does what she can to face their onslaught, when she retires to bed at night her head aches terribly, ringing with their poisonous words and accusations.

She has suffered them to the best of her ability. She's listened to them harp ceaselessly about how she's been dismantling the structure of Crimea by writing treaties with Gallia and Phoenicis and parceling the control of Daein over to the already sizable Begnion. She's been a witness to them as they belittle her efforts at managing the reconstruction of Melior and all of the many Crimean villages destroyed by the war. She's heard them mock her, humble her, and outright insult her, and yet she has stood strong. She is queen, and it is not her duty to be the puppet of the nobles, but rather to stand firm in the name of her people. As much as they exhaust and anger her, she cannot fold.

As Elincia buries her face deep into the soft folds of her pillow, and tries to quash the nagging pain in her head with comfort, she feels the familiar fingers working through her hair, unfastening the pins and pulling apart the elaborate braids that are currently in fashion in her court. She sighs happily for a moment, wallowing in the forbidden sensation, the feel of the tough pads of his thumbs brushing against the skin of her scalp and sending her blood rushing quickly through her veins. Suffering through the hatred of the nobility is bearable as long as she has this one secret, this one indiscretion. As long as she has him and can protect him from the outside world, she fears nothing.

"What are you thinking about?" he asks, his breath sweet against the back of her neck. She feels her hairs stand on edge, the sensation of breathless anticipation. Time has passed since that moment at Debray, that heartfelt confession and first kiss, but he has yet to lose his power over her. His voice still calls her to live, to breathe, to have purpose. Time has not changed that notion, but has rather strengthened it in her.

She turns so she is facing him, forgetting her headache for a moment. "I'm thinking of you," she says sincerely, her hands interlacing with his. "Of how I wish everything and everyone but you would disappear so that we could be together."

Geoffrey smiles somewhat, but his eyes are sad; he knows exactly what she means. "We are together," he says, trying to pacify her. They've been apart for so long now at the nobles' scheming; he away doing Crimean Royal Knight busy work, and she locked away in endless meetings about how she is a weak and ineffective queen. It took a good week of planning and carefully placed bribes to even bring this moment about, and even now as they rest in comfort together, they have no idea when they will next be alone and how they long will be able to keep these secrets from those who wish to keep them apart. Geoffrey can see the knowledge of this and the sadness when he looks in her eyes. She is unhappy and there is nothing he can do.

"This isn't the way we are supposed to be together," she sighs mournfully, closing her eyes. "This is a mockery of the happiness we should be feeling. If only we were free."

"If only," he agrees. He falls silent, gently stroking her hair between his fingers. He thinks for a moment that she has fallen asleep, but her eyes slowly open again after a time. She looks happier, as if she has just had a pleasant thought during her reflections.

"If I had been born a peasant, we'd be in a true courtship right now," she says, smiling prettily. "You'd bring a flower to my cottage every day, and one day you would ask my father for permission to marry me. We'd have a spring wedding, and I'd wear my best pink gown and have flowers you picked for me from the meadows in my hair."

"I'd build you a new house far away from the city, and you'd plant a garden full of vegetables so we'd always have something for supper," Geoffrey adds, joining in her game. "You'd always get in some sort of mishap preparing them, but I'd eat every bite anyways."

"And we'd have four beautiful children. A boy first, one that looks like you, and then three little girls for you to spoil rotten."

"I'd work like a dog every day so we'd have enough money to buy them ribbons and dresses and toys and trinkets so they would never want for anything."

"And even if you couldn't make enough money, we'd still be happy. Because we'd have each other." Elincia smiles and gives him a gentle, tender kiss. "I would give anything to live in that world, Geoffrey. I love Crimea and Tellius, but sometimes I wish it would all just go away. So it could always be like this."

"Maybe it will be easier one day. You're still new to the throne and maybe once you're more established they'll let up on us."

"I know. I can wait for that to happen, but..."

"You'd rather not?"

"Yes. We're both ready now. We're both so greatly in love. Why can't they see that? Why can't they let us live?"

"I wish I could give you a satisfactory answer." He kisses her gently on the forehead and tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. "But there is none to be had. Now is not the time to fight them. You have Crimea to fight for, and I can wait."

"And we'll find a way. Someday." Her headache gone, she snuggles up against him and yawns sleepily. "I wish I didn't have to rest. You'll be gone in the morning, and then it's back to endless torture for the both of us. If only there were a way to make time stop. Now would be a wonderful time to do it."

He laughs lightly and places his thumbs on her eyelids, gently pushing them down. "You've had a rough time of it. Just go to sleep. Wherever I am when you wake up, I'll be thinking of you."

"And it's really not so bad to be asleep is it?" she murmurs as he tucks the covers to her chin. "When we dream, anything can happen. I can make that world where it's only us. I can live in that cottage with our four children and the vegetable garden."

"And one day you won't have to dream about it anymore," he whispers to her, his voice a dark and melodic lullaby. "One day you'll wake up, and I'll be right here."

0o0o0o0o0o

**Endless Peace**

Soren sprawls out beside the lake-bed and waits for Ike to unpack their bags and set up the fishing poles. He's never done this before, but Ike has gone on trips like these several times before with his father, and thus knows all about bait, fishing lines, hooks, and reels. And he is obviously eager to impart all of this sacred knowledge to Soren; his smile hasn't faded since they left the fort a day ago for their promised vacation, and it has grown sunnier and sunnier by the minute.

"Are you really sure this is what you want to do?" he asks Soren as he unpacks a canister of worms and opens the lid. "I'm still game for that library tour I offered. Wouldn't you enjoy that more?"

"You wouldn't," Soren responds. He watches the worms writhing in the can and hopes that he won't have to touch them. It's bad enough to just _smell_ them without having to get his hands all over their slimy, slippery bodies. Maybe he'll make Ike do that part.

"But this trip is about you, not me," Ike reminds him. "We're supposed to do what you think is fun."

"I think this is fun," Soren says emphatically, picking up the rod on the ground behind him. "Show me what to do."

Ike grins and begins teaching him the basics. He threads the hook through the line and instructs Soren how to place the bait, how to cast, and lastly how to reel in. When Soren tries it for himself, Ike kindly takes care of the worm and adjusts the mage's arms so they are just-so when he throws his line. The day is warm, and Soren had rolled the sleeves of his robes up to his elbow earlier to keep himself from getting too hot. When Ike moves his arms, the hands against his exposed skin are both warm and cooling. He finds himself purposefully messing up his stance so he can feel the touch again and again on his flushing skin.

"How long does it usually take before something bites?" Soren asks, holding firmly onto the pole and waiting for the telltale tremor of a fish taking the bait.

"That's up in the air," Ike answers gleefully, settling onto the ground. "Could be minutes. Could be hours. Depends on the fish."

Soren lifts an eyebrow. "Hours?"

"Well, you can always cast again if it takes that long. Or you could take a nap or read or do whatever you like as you wait. As long as you keep the pole stable."

"What do you usually do?"

"Hmm. It's been awhile. I think my father and I used to talk about things. Not important things, really; mostly stuff like making fun of Mist's cooking or commenting on how tall Rolf had gotten in the past few months."

"Did you ever speak of me?" Soren asks curiously.

"Of course. Dad always liked to make sure I was taking care of you properly. We used to think up of all these ways we could trick you into eating more. Wow, that seems so long ago." Ike places his pole between his knees and rests his back against the warm grass. "I'm glad you're here with me now. I missed doing stuff like this."

As they wait for a bite, they talk. Or Ike talks, and Soren listens. Ike isn't the world's chattiest man, but today it is as if he is opening a lock-box of things he has been hiding away over the past year. All of the observations and stories he had no time to share during the conflict spill out, and Soren receives each word gladly. This is what he loves. This easy communion between them, this effortless and comfortable sharing of thought through words spoken and unspoken, through smiles and nods and gestures. Through the occasional silence, the recasting of a fishing pole, the wordless acknowledgment of Soren's distaste for the worms, the warm touch of skin on skin brushing on purpose or accidentally.

"I'm talking your ear off," Ike says guilty after an hour or so at the lake-bed. "You've already let three fish get away because you're distracted."

"No. Keep talking," Soren commands insistently. "You've already caught plenty of fish. We don't need anymore, really."

"But fishing is even more fun when you get your first catch. Focus."

"I thought this vacation was about what I wanted. And I want to hear you talk."

"Why? I doubt I've said anything particularly interesting."

"But I never knew before that you always wanted a dog when you were little or that your father taught you and Mist how to swim just in case you ever fell in. It's interesting to learn these things about you."

"You find that interesting?" Ike asks, genuinely amazed. "But you read all sorts of things in those books of yours that actually have more of a meaning in your life."

"That's not true," Soren mutters softly, reeling in his line. There's a bit of seaweed tangled on the hook, but nothing else has caught. He picks it off and throws it aside. "Help me cast this again."

Ike smiles and picks himself off the ground. "You'll get the hang of this eventually."

"Mm. I'll be of more use come dinner. Mist warned me that you tend not to let your meat cook long enough because you get too excited about eating it to wait."

Ike looks hungrily down at his stack of fish. "Yeah, I think I'll let you take care of it. Just looking at it makes me remember all those lovely fish platters we had in Crimea during all those feasts. I can hardly wait."

"Too bad we had to sit through all of those speeches and dances before we ate," Soren retorts, his voice thick with distaste. He himself hadn't danced, but Ike had been the most sought after partner excepting Queen Elincia. He had barely had the opportunity to sit down on those nights.

"Ah well. It's surprising the number of things you can tolerate when your mind is on dinner." Once Soren's line is cast again, Ike sink back to the ground and closes his eyes. "But I'd much rather be here than there. This is paradise. No nobles, no duties, no expectations. Just us."

Soren waits for a moment, expecting Ike to pick up where their last conversation left off. He wants to hear more of Ike's childhood, the hopes and dreams and trivial pleasure that carried him through back in those days, the time before Soren. The songs his mother used to sing, Mist's first words, the first time he held a sword. He isn't sure why these things matter so much to him, but he wants to know each and every detail, all of the mundane pieces that add up and inexplicably create this perfect, noble man, this shining figure of love.

But when Ike speaks again, his voice is not the upbeat, conversational hum that it was earlier. He is solemn, speaking in the tone he only uses when he is hard at work thinking something difficult and complex through. Soren sits up straighter. Something important is going to be said, something he wants to pay mind to.

"If I didn't have to go back from this, I wouldn't," Ike states musingly, looking up at Soren. "Much as I like things back at the fort, I like this more. You, me, the wide open world... I could live like this forever."

"But we have our responsibilities," Soren reminds him quietly. "We can't stay."

"Yes, I know. But I would like to. If not for those duties, I would leave and never look back. In fact, sometimes I wish they would all just disappear."

"You would be happy without the mercenary company? Truly?"

"I know it was my father's creation and that I should want to stay there forever. But I can't lie to myself about it. It isn't what I want."

"What do you want?"

"I'm not certain yet. But I have the feeling I'll figure it out soon."

"Hmm." Soren reels his line in again and sets his fishing pole aside. "I think I'm going to give up for now. We haven't set up the tent and bedrolls yet, and I should get that done."

"While you do that, I think I'll go for a swim. It's pretty hot out." Without waiting, Ike begins to pull of his cape and unbutton his tunic. Soren catches a glimpse of his bare chest and quickly looks away. "I'll uh... go, um... to the tent," he stammers, quickly darting away.

He fumbles with the tent poles absently, his heart pounding. _What did any of that mean? He wants to stay here... with me? Is it being here in this beautiful place he likes, or is it..._

Soren glances over to the lake-bed. All of Ike's clothes are set along the banks, but Ike is no longer on the shore. He shields his eyes from the sun and stares into the water. Ripples form on the surface and suddenly the swimmer emerges. Dripping wet blue hair, slick lips, skin covered in perfect drops of water. He smiles for a moment, waves, and then plunges back in. A perfect, fluid body cutting through the perfect, fluid water in this land of endless peace and beauty. For a moment, Soren feels as if he will weep in gratitude for it.

"I could live like this forever," he murmurs to himself as he abandons the tent and openly watches the water for Ike, his reason to stay locked forever in this time and place where no one else, not even the ever present goddess, existed but them.

0o0o0o0o0o

**The Quiet Life**

"There is absolutely nothing fun to do in Begnion," Aimee declares, placing her hands on her hips. "We've been touring the country for almost a year, and I've been dying of boredom almost every day we've been here. Can't we go somewhere else?"

Daniel pauses as he polishes a sword he's just finished making. "Oh, shut up. There are plenty of good things here. The Apostle's villa... the Holy Guard's training fields..."

"I want to go to Crimea," she interrupts. "There were plenty of... intriguing things there."

"Oh, come off it," Daniel laughs. "We'll be on our way to Daein soon enough. I hear there's lots of troubles brewing in Nevassa, so there will be plenty of things to keep you entertained there."

"I don't want to go to Daein." She shudders to herself, remembering the cold, barren streets, the starvation, Prideri. "Danny dear, can't you help me convince Muston to change our plans?"

"Trust me, I've already talked to him. I asked him to keep us in Begnion, but he said our outing to Daein is already set."

"Hmph." Aimee folds her arm across her chest. "Well, if you don't want to help me, fine. Where's Jorge?"

"Tending to the horses. I doubt he'll be much help though. I don't think he particularly wants to go back to Crimea."

"I don't care. He'll at least be kinder to me about it!" With a glare, she flounces outside and crosses the courtyard to the stables. Jorge is standing within scrubbing down their cart house, the sleeves of his shirt rolled up to reveal surprisingly muscular forearms.

"Ah, Aimee," he says when he sees her, setting down his brush. "Writhing in the throes of boredom again?"

"Daniel says there's no way to get out of going to Daein," she replies crossly. "I don't want to go. I hate that place."

"It will be better now that the Mad King's forces are gone. And we won't be going in winter this time, so at least the countryside will once again be fair and beautiful."

"It still will be miserable. It's _Daein_, Jorge."

He shrugs. "I suppose. I hear the Occupational Army has been doing a real number on it. That Jarod Duke Numida's put at the helm is supposed to be a real bastard."

"Maybe it won't be safe enough for us to go."

"Would you honestly rather stay here?" he asks in surprise. "This gaudy excuse for a country... you find this more appealing?"

"Hardly. Jorge, you know where I want to go. Crimea."

He frowns, picks up his brush, and resumes scrubbing the horse, though this time with more vigor. "Still, huh?"

"What, you thought I would change my mind? I may be a beautiful woman, but I am not a fickle one!"

"Nor a sensible one, I'm beginning to see. You honestly think Crimea will be exciting enough to whet your appetite? Will all that building and rebuilding be enough to satisfy you?"

"No, but darling Ike can make anything thrilling. He could make settling down and living a quiet life in the country an adventure." She sighs to herself at the thought. "Oh, seeing him again will make everything right. I just know it."

"Right," Jorge scoffs. "I truly buy the idea of you living a normal life, even a semi-adventurous one. You really have no idea what you really want, do you?"

"What do you mean? Of course I do!"

"Well, tell me what it is."

"I...I..." She falls silent for a moment, trying to remember. Security. Forgiveness. A better life than the sick, twisted world Prideri had built for himself, the velvet cage she almost been trapped in. But what kind of life is a better life? One with Ike would certainly be better on principle, but would safety and decency be enough to temper the wildness of her heart? Would settling for that mean sacrificing herself?

"I thought so," Jorge says when she does not answer. "And that's okay. You're young, and you've been so many places. Why choose now? Why not wait until you're sure?"

"Things don't usually wait around for you if you hesitate," she says darkly, thinking of all Ike's female admirers. They would be poised to snatch him up in a heart beat should he give them any reason to.

"Yes, Aimee. But some of them do."

She ponders this for a moment, studying him. She thinks he means Ike with this statement, but she can't be sure. There's a new look in his eyes, a determined, stubborn, and yet pleading glint that does not seem to have anything to do with the commander of the Greil Mercenaries. Aimee marvels at this look for a moment, surprised at its presence. She hadn't really comprehended how Jorge had changed since the war had started and ended, but here now is the evidence. He's no longer entirely the mischievous, quick witted boy who had once rescued her, but now a man with a greater backbone, heart, and purpose. He isn't speaking in defense of Ike, but in defense of himself. His loyalty is the one being offered, and it is her decision to accept it or to turn it aside for the life she dreamed of with the prospective Ike.

Before she can say anything, Jorge shakes his head. "Why choose now?" he repeats. "We'll be heading to Daein rather than Crimea, in any case. May as well face up to that before you work yourself up."

"All right," she sighs with finality and only a very distant sense of sadness. "But I do wish Muston would change his mind."

"I wish Crimea would blow off the goddess damn map and leave the two of us be," he responds bitterly, turning his face away from her. "I wish it could be just us. And not him."

0o0o0o0o0o


	9. The Ones With Sacrificial Hearts

**A/N:** RD time! My favorite game ever :P Hope I manage to do the wonderful, wonderful story line and characters justice even though I have to extremely condense much of what happens. Enjoy!

**9. The Ones With Sacrificial Hearts **(in which Elincia makes a choice, the mercenaries return, Aimee is happy, and Jorge is not)

It's funny in a way how capricious fate is. People are right to think of her as a flighty temptress, a malevolent, uncaring goddess determining the world with the random turn of a wheel. Elincia had possessed everything, or at least everything she could possibly hope for: the safety of Crimea, the lives of her friends, the love of Geoffrey. All of these things had been dangled in front of her face as the prize, and she naively thought she had won them. But now fate has pulled them back, turning her wheel so that Elincia is at the bottom, the unlucky side. On the verge of losing everything.

She stands atop the fort, Geoffrey beside her. Both sharing in the same sense of horror for what is happening beneath them. How could this have come to be? Elincia had done everything the way that was just and right. She had stuck up for Crimea and quashed the rebellion, quashed the brutal Ludveck and imprisoned him straight away. She had not given in, capitulated, or sacrificed her people. She had proven herself a good queen, a strong queen. She had proven their doubts incorrect. So why is this happening? Why is Lucia standing on the scaffold, her beautiful hair shredded to her chin, a noose around her neck? Why is Elincia being forced to make this choice, this horrid, impossible, unfair decision?

"We have to do something," Geoffrey whispers, his voice choked and sucked of all joy. He grabs her arms, almost wrenching it with the urgency of his force. "Elincia, we have to save her. We can't let her die."

She sees the desperation in his eyes and grows sorrowful. His sister. The perfect target. If she permits Lucia to die, she will lose more than her best friend and adviser; she will lose him as well. He may not realize it yet, but she already knows what Ludveck's terms will be. Crimea for Lucia. If she holds onto Crimea, Lucia will be lost. And Geoffrey, as good and loyal as he is and has always been, will never be able to see past the blood of his sister on her hands. He would allow her decision, and perhaps even respect it to a certain extent, but he would no longer feel the same way about her as he once had. She would be a killer, albeit an unwilling one. Even though she would be innocent of any real wrongdoing, the implication would still be there. _My sister died because of you. You could have saved her, but you didn't._

She pulls her arm away from his, keeping him from hurting her again in his panic. "Come on," she says, gesturing to the way back into the fort and down to the dungeons. "Ludveck will wish to bargain with us."

He follows her, gnashing his teeth. A nervous habit. "Elincia, they're going to hang her. We have to do something."

"I know... I... we will go see what he wishes from us, okay?"

"But your tone is defeated. You're giving in already! How could you? That's Lucia out there, Elincia! Not just anyone!"

"Any one of my people is not just anyone to me, Geoffrey," she murmurs back.

The guard standing watch over Ludveck's cell steps aside as they approach the prison. "Your orders, my queen?" he asks, puzzled to see her again so soon. They had only just handed the duke in, after all, and everyone had been so sure all of it was over. _Fate is laughing at us now, _Elincia thinks sadly as she dismisses the guard from the room and steps in front of her enemy, knowing well what is to come.

"I see from your face that you have discovered what has become of Lady Lucia," Ludveck says, his voice cold and boasting. "I'm sorry it had to come to this."

"You're not sorry. You're despicable," Elincia snaps, staring into his emotionless eyes. "You think this sort of brutality is what Crimea needs to be strong?"

The man shrugs. "Any sort of strength is better than your weakness, my dear. Crimea isn't interested in having a warm hearted, laguz loving idealist on the throne. New blood is needed. Someone with the ability to make our country a power in the world, a country like Begnion. Someone who doesn't align their fate with Gallia or let Daein go about prancing the idiot son of their old Mad King as a decent ruler!"

"So you would see Crimea give into lust for power. Perhaps you were not aware of why our last war occurred, but I will remind you it was for similar reasons. Bigotry, power, ambition. Perhaps I am not the best ruler this land has ever seen, but I will not permit my people to be pawns in this scheme of yours. You will fill their hearts with hate and make them prejudiced barbarians. Whatever weakness exists within me is not worth resorting to such means!"

Ludveck merely smiles. "I wonder what Lady Lucia would think of these ideals of yours? Unfortunately for you, if you stick to them, you will never speak to her again."

"What do you mean?" Geoffrey asks sharply, his hands clenching into fists.

"It's simple. My men are prepared to execute Lady Lucia, but they will stop at my word. And I will happily give the word to set her free if her royal highness agrees to step down from the throne of Crimea."

"Ah!" He looks up at Elincia, his beautiful eyes fixing on her. Pure agony for both of them. Because he knows now what she is choosing between. And he knows what she will choose.

"So, Queen Elincia. What will it be?" Ludveck's voice stretches in between them, driving them apart. "Your friend? Or your crown?"

"You think it is about a crown, but it isn't," she says. "It's about a country. Crimea. It's about me deciding what's best for it. Me or you."

"The answer to that question is obvious. Why are you even hesitating to open my cell door?"

"I agree. The answer is obvious. When I imagine Crimea with you on the throne, I see us becoming what Daein was three years ago. A nation enslaved to a blind, war mongering brute. I do not pretend to be a great queen, but I at least will strive for peace and act in my people's best interest. Can the same be said for you, as strong as you claim you are?"

The greed dissipates from his eyes for a moment, replaced by incredulity. "You would sacrifice your friend? For this?"

"I would sacrifice much more to keep Crimea from being lost again. You were wrong to underestimate me."

"Perhaps." A smile returns to his face for a moment. "You may be stronger than I thought you were. But strong enough to watch the life drain from her eyes? To watch your beloved knight suffer for your actions? Or will you come crawling back to me on your hands and knees, begging me to take the crown from your pretty little head?"

Elincia turns to Geoffrey, taking him in._ I have been blessed to have your love, even if only for a fleeting time_, she reminds herself as her courage momentarily wavers at the sight of him. _I have waited for you all my life, and I will wait for you to forgive me again. I will wait, even if it never happens. I just can't sacrifice Crimea in order to be selfish and stubborn. I'm not a child anymore. And there are things more important than getting what you want in this world. There are sacrifices that have to be made._

"I will be strong, Duke Ludveck," she says finally. "I will take this loss so Crimea doesn't have to."

With a parting sigh, she turns her back on him and walks out of the cold grip of the dungeon. She knows what is waiting for her outside, but she also knows that she has to face it. There will be no more running. Despite the pain, despite the agony, despite the guilt that woill eat her alive from this moment forward, Lucia has to die. Fate has given Elincia a hard choice to make, but she will make it and see it through. No matter the cost to her heart.

"Elincia, wait!" Geoffrey calls from behind her. She doesn't want to turn and see him, to bear witness to the anger and accusations in his eyes. She stays rooted where she is, waiting for him to come to her. Waiting for the goodbye she doesn't want to say.

"Elincia. Please. Look at me." He lifts her chin with his fingers and stares intensely into her eyes. "It doesn't have to be like this. It won't be defeat to give up the throne, don't you see? You would be free! We could live that life we dreamed of, alone in the country with our house and our garden and our children, and Lucia would live! We could be together!"

"Geoffrey," she moans, shaking her head. "No we couldn't. It wouldn't be us. It was beautiful to dream that we could do those things, but the people we were dreaming about weren't real. _This_ is who we are. We are a part of Crimea, and this country needs us to carry on. As much as we wish you could live without the burden of it, we can't. We would never be able to live with ourselves if we were responsible for Crimea's downfall. You may not feel like it now, but it's true. If we gave it up, you, me, and Lucia wouldn't survive. We wouldn't live to have that place in the country, because that's not we born for. We can't live as peasants, Geoffrey, but we can still be together and live our lives here, where we belong. Or at least we could if only I could somehow keep myself from breaking your heart in a few minutes time."

At these words he falls silent. All she can hear are his sharp intakes of breath, each like a sword through her heart. "I'm sorry," she whispers. "I don't want to hurt you like this."

"I'm sorry as well. I wish I could have spared you this decision."

"Me?"

"You love her too," he says simply. "For both of us, this will not be easy."

She nods. "You should stay down here while I go. I don't want you to see this. This wasn't your choice."

"My place is beside you."

"You don't have to say that for my sake. Please. I deserve your hatred for setting all of this in motion. If I hadn't been weak-"

"You wouldn't be so strong now," he finishes for her. "We each made our miscalculations. Lucia and myself included. I'm not going to let you face this like it's entirely your fault. Weren't you the one who insisted on equality? Well, equality applies to pain as well as joy. We're in this together."

"But after she... after it happens, you won't-"

"I won't be able to comprehend where I went right in earning the love of someone noble enough to give up the two things that matter most to her in order to save the people she was born to protect." He smiles feebly, but it quickly turns into a grimace. "Lucia will be proud of you."

"I hope so." Elincia takes his hand tentatively, and sighs as his fingers lace together with hers. Even so, she does not give into the idea tat she has not lost him just yet. Fate is not through playing with her. Though she is minutes away from stealing Lucia, she has not managed to wrest Crimea and Geoffrey from Elincia's grasp. Perhaps she will never rest until the job is done fully.

Somehow she and Geoffrey manage the walk back to the roof of Alpea. Lucia is waiting for them, surrounded by her guard of enemy soldiers, but she seems apathetic to the fact that she is standing on death's door. In fact, she is downright happy to see her brother and queen emerge from the fort unaccompanied by Duke Ludveck. "Ha!" she cries as the guards mutter in surprise around her. "You didn't think she would do it, but she is a true queen. Not a pretender like your idiot duke."

"Gentleman of Felirae, Crimea will not negotiate with your corrupt usurper," Elincia cries from her perch. "We stand strong as a nation against this rebellion. We will not be dismantled!"

"I hope you are prepared to watch your friend die, in that case!" one of the guards cries in return, though his voice is uncertain. Not one of them had expected her to dismiss Ludveck's bargain. If she was to remain their queen and keep Ludveck locked up, what was the point in killing the girl? It would just make her have them arrested faster. But then again, it was dishonor to take defeat without punishing the queen Ludveck had so loathed.

The guards study Lucia warily. She smirks back at them, unfazed.

"Behold a true queen!" she cries, looking up at Fort Alpea. Her eyes shine with love and respect, not sadness for her impending execution. "A strong queen! Your queen! Long live Queen Elincia."

The crowd around her scaffold murmur restlessly. Some return her cry: long live the queen. The soldiers continue to murmur among themselves as they decide what to do. "The queen intends to stay on the throne, and the rest of Crimea will fall back behind her soon enough," one of the younger men comments. "We could face a lot of trouble if we kill off the queen's adviser."

"We're men, not cowards," another disagrees. "The queen was given her terms. She will be punished for going against Ludveck."

"But what good is Ludveck to us now, huh? He's just a duke soon to be stripped of all his titles and most likely executed himself."

"Only a dog of a man turns his back on his fallen leader."

The argument might have gone on for much longer if not for the arrow. The arrow barreling out of the forest that no one saw coming until it was too late, already sliced through the noose around Lucia's neck. The soldiers barely have a moment for shock to register before Ike, the savior of Crimea himself, also comes barreling out unexpectedly, just in time to catch Lady Lucia in his arms.

As all hell breaks loose below, Elincia drops to her knees atop the fort. "We are spared," she murmurs, tears springing into her eyes. "Maybe the goddess was testing me. I had no idea I was capable of this... of sacrificing Lucia... of possibly losing you, Geoffrey. I can't believe Lucia almost-"

"Ssh." Geoffrey falls to his knees beside her. "We've all been tested. You, me, Lucia. I think all three of us did the right thing. Thank the goddess it ended as well as it did." He nods at the scene below them, at Soren sending gusts of wind at the guards and Boyd taking out half the field with his wild axe work. "And thank the goddess for Ike and company."

"You can always count on them to save the day," she says jokingly, though much to tired and stressed to laugh at the situation.

"And on you to lead Crimea down the path of righteousness."

"And you to trust in me against all odds, even when things are at their worst." She closes her eyes and rests her head against his chest, exhaustion overwhelming her. "I'm so glad I didn't lose you. I would have borne it, but with such great unhappiness."

"You never will lose me," he says in return, watching the mercenaries clean up neatly what could have been a grisly scene. The dead and dangling body of his sister, the sacrificial lamb of a greedy man's doomed rebellion. "You are not the only one that has had to learn to be strong."

0o0o0o0o0o

"We've got a new job," Ike announces, striding through the room in the palace where the rest of the Greil mercenaries are waiting, still exhilarated from the success of their rescue mission. "Or at least I do. You can join me if you wish."

He drops down into a nearby chair, pulls open the pack tied to his belt, and begins to gnaw on the jerky he has stored within. Everyone waits for him to explain, but he is (as always) a bit oblivious to their curiosity.

_In rapture with his food_, Soren thinks drily, rolling his eyes. Not that it isn't kind of cute, if the word _cute_ can even be applied to Ike. Which it probably can't, at least not anymore. All the muscle he's packed on as he's entered into his twenties has had a way of dispelling such words from Soren's descriptive vocabulary of Ike. _Sexy_ would be more appropriate, but Soren would never use such a trite word. At least not out loud.

"Is it a job for the queen?" Mia asks finally.

"Huh? Oh, no. It isn't. It's with Ranulf."

"Oooh," she giggles. "Count me in! He's handsome!"

"What's Ranulf doing here?" Titania wonders. "Is all well in Gallia?"

Ike imparts the news about the Serenes massacre and the murder of the Gallian emissary to the company. "I know it might not appeal to all of you to be a part of a laguz alliance"-he nods in the direction of Shinon and Soren- "so I'm giving you all a choice in this. I would prefer all of you to come, of course."

"Hmph," Shinon snorts after most of the group agrees to the mission. "I'm not taking any orders from a sub human."

"Actually, you won't have to. The beast army is breaking in a new general- Skrimir, I think Ranulf called him- but we're going to be acting as our unit. Most of the orders will be coming from me."

"As if that's any better."

"How exactly do they plan to attack Begnion?" Soren asks, somewhat grumpy at this turn of events. He had been enjoying the relaxed pace of business after the war, doing small jobs for the locals and having plenty of free time on their hands. Plenty of time for training and catching up with finances, or, preferably, taking weekend trips with Ike to replenish their meat supplies through fishing. "It's the biggest country in Tellius, not to mention how well manned it is."

"According to Ranulf, the plan is for us to stir up forces on the borders and get just close enough to the capital to warrant Apostle Sanaki's attention. She is not an enemy of us or the laguz, and the Senate will have to cave to her eventually."

"It will be a risky venture," Soren warns.

Ike smiles in response. "It won't be so risky if we have your skills on our side."

"Can you honestly see me working with the sub- the laguz general on strategy?"

"Ranulf, Titania, and I will be there to help you take care of it. We're not so bad, are we?"

"Uh, well..."

"Of course, you don't have to come if you don't want to. You could stay around the fort and neaten up while we're gone if you'd like. All alone in that big old place."

Soren glares at him. Has Ike been picking up tactical knowledge from his arsenal? He could always bend Soren to his will before with a little effort, but never _this_ easily.

"I'll take that at as a yes," Ike says enthusiastically. "Ah, and I have other news. Something kind of disturbing about Daein."

"Not again," Mist groans.

"Unfortunately. You know how Bastian couldn't find the corpse of the Black Knight in Pinnell after the collapse? Apparently he survived somehow. He's been seen around Daein helping that Maiden of the Sunbeams or whatever they call her. The one that got Ashnard's son on the throne and took out the Occupational Army."

"How is that even possible? Couldn't it be an imposter?" asks Boyd.

"He has the armor. And Alondite. I don't know he managed it, but I'm certain it's him. Especially considering what's been going on in Daein. Queen Elincia thinks things are too similar to Crimea's liberation to be coincidental. She suspects that someone's manipulating things over there."

"From what I've heard, it's uncanny," Titania adds. "King Pelleas... the Maiden of Dawn... their roles in Daein are extreme parallels to Queen Elincia and Ike in Crimea. Even Tauroneo and Sothe somewhat resemble myself and Soren if you think about it."

"Sothe's a tactician now?" Soren yelps. "You have to be kidding me!"

"Actually, he's more like you in the sense that he's the Maiden's devoted sidekick," Mist teases.

Soren's mouth twists into a snarl. "Sidekick?"

"Don't listen to her," Ike says kindly. "You're much too bossy to be my sidekick. In any case, we need to keep an eye on Daein. Queen Elincia claims that King Pelleas isn't the monster his father was, but that he may not be the one truly in control of the situation over there. And the Daeins' treatment of this Maiden character is verging on goddess worship, which in my book is definitely not normal. Not to mention the fact that they're rubbing elbows with the Black Knight."

"That murdering bastard," Mist adds helpfully.

"Mhm. But our primary concern is Begnion. As Soren said, it isn't going to be easy. We won't be leaving immediately, so we've got some preparation and training ahead of us."

"Oh boy, training," Mia sighs dreamily. "I call Rhys!"

"Erm, no. I'm sick," Rhys lies, coughing feebly.

"Wimp. How about you, boss?"

Ike raises an eyebrow. "Right now? Uh, I think I'm actually supposed to have another word with Queen Elincia and Ranulf in a few minutes. I didn't mean we should start practicing now. We're guests in the royal palace."

"If only there hadn't been a rebellion, maybe Elincia would have had a ball for us," Mist sighs, mourning the loss.

"Thank the goddess for the rebellion, then," Soren hears Ike mutter under his breath. The mage's lips turn unwittingly upwards in a smile. They would soon be spending months on the road again, hard at work and too busy for vacations up to the lake for solitude, but this time around he has the knowledge he didn't have before. Ike's confession that what he liked best were the moments they shared together in their quiet paradise. Just the two of them and the wide open world.

He will have to share Ike now. With Ranulf and the laguz and eventually with the rest of the world when Daein and Crimea somehow find their way into the conflict (they will, Soren knows. Daein is nothing but trouble, and once the majority of Tellius is involved in things, Crimea will be badgered by Begnion or Gallia or both to take a side), but the idea is not completely unbearable as it had once been. Ike doesn't want this life. He wants something else, something as yet unnamed, but not this life of playing politics with the beorc and laguz and being dragged into these massive wars. He wants something simple, their quiet summer days spent together, the freedom of no expectations or obligations.

It isn't everything, but it's a start. He can't hope for requited love (he's not crazy enough to believe in that possibility) but he's content to imagine something much more obtainable. The vision of Ike reaching out to him, extending that rough and beautiful hand for him to take and leading him out into the world, promising to never go back to the life they had before, the life where he had to be divided down the middle, everyone taking a piece of the hero, their savior. "This is the life I want to live," he'd say as they shed their skin, leaving everything behind. Setting themselves free.

It's a dream, he knows. But sometimes when he thinks of it, it seems real. Perhaps this war will be the final one, Ike's last stand before he gives up the heroism he's never wanted, before he sets off for the life he really does desire, whatever that may be. Soren can only wait. Even if it is only a dream, the possibilty is still there. No matter how small, it's still something to believe in.

0o0o0o0o0o

"May I see the letter again?" Aimee asks in her sing song voice as Muston drives the team forward in the direction of Melior. "Which one of you has it?"

"I ripped it up it and threw it over the Riven bridge when we went across," Jorge says. "It was getting all disgusting with your drool all over it. Besides, you should pretty much have it memorized by now."

"Maybe I do. Let me see... 'My dearest and most beautiful Aimee-'"

"It was addressed to me," Muston calls back from the front of the caravan.

Aimee ignores him. "'My most exquisite goddess, I have long dreamed of your face, and at last I have the opportunity to bring you back to your place at my side'. Ooh, what came after that part?"

"Something else completely made up, I'll wager," Jorge groans. "Aimee, we all know that it was to Muston about accompanying the Greil Mercenaries to Begnion. You weren't mentioned in a single sentence of it."

"Ah, Begnion. How nice it will be to be back."

"Riiight. Never mind the fact that you _hate_ Begnion."

"I do. It will be very nice to watch Ikey-poo take out the lot of their pompous, boring asses."

"You're making me nauseous."

"Oh, don't be pompous yourself. You're glad to be getting out of Daein as well. Working for the liberation army was nice and all, but they all seemed eager to forget who it was that got them into their mess to begin with. Not my darling Ike, but that mad, ugly brute Ashnard."

"Micaiah did not seem to like Ike very much," Ilyana notes in between gnawing on something- hopefully something actually edible.

"Micaiah is an idiot," Aimee says cheerfully. "Imagine hating such a delectable species of man. I've been hearing from the gossip mill that he's grown up quite nicely since we've be gone. He's sprouted a few inches and developed these extraordinary muscles. Ooh, I can't wait to see!"

"You know, before we got that letter, Aimee, you were talking and acting like a sane person," Jorge sighs in frustration. "It was actually quite nice."

"Love turns us all into fools."

"So I've been learning," he mutters.

"Hey, cheer up. Our bet is back on, right? That will be good sport for both of us. I've already got this wonderful plan to get Ike to say I'm the most beautiful woman he's ever met and what not."

"Wonderful. But you're right. I'm eagerly looking forward to your defeat at my hands."

"Hahaha, how you kid yourself." She swats him playfully, a smile blossoming on her face as his frown dissipates. "Hoping he's had a secret romance with Mia or Marcia or Lucia or whoever you're betting on while we've been away? Clandestine summertime picnics and the like? We would have heard about that by now, had it actually happened. Crimea is swimming with gossips, and plenty of ladies have taken to keeping an eye on Ike's love life."

"That's quite all right. I wasn't counting on Ike secretly courting the ladies," he replies contentedly.

"Of course he wouldn't. He's waiting for me!"

"Waiting for you... more like hiding under his bed in horror as the date of your arrival approaches."

"You are so unkind," she pouts, regarding him with lidded eyes. "Sometimes I think you don't like me at all."

"Fishing for compliments isn't going to work." He scowls sullenly. "What have I told you about flirting without meaning it? What would Ikey-poo think?"

"He'd be so jealous! He may even fight you!" The idea of Jorge and Ike fighting over her makes her even happier. The two of them rolling up their sleeves and displaying those muscular arms as they drew their blades (but did Jorge even have a blade?) and she swooning on the sidelines. Whichever one of them won, she'd dive straight into their arms and look up at them with her big doe eyes. "My hero," she'd say. And then there would be kissing. Lots of it. She giggles at the thought.

"Of course," Jorge sighs wryly. "You're incorrigible, did you know?"

"But you would fight for me, wouldn't you?"

"You wouldn't want me to. You'd throw a temper tantrum if I even tried to hurt him."

_No, I wouldn't_, she almost objects, shocking herself. So much for not being fickle. Is she actually considering the possibility that Jorge winning the fight would be just as delicious as Ike winning it? And _giggling_ over it?

_You really have no idea what you really want, do you?_ he'd asked her. And she hadn't been able to properly answer him. Because she secretly had absolutely no idea.

"Damn you, Jorge," she says mildly, staring at his persistent scowl. "You're so troublesome. But I'll have my revenge. The bet."

"Sure you will," he says, equally mild. _Over my dead body._


	10. The Ones Who Challenge Us

**A/N:** Let it be noted that I planned to get this out way earlier than I did, but the big guy up in heaven has apparently decided that my plans are a laughing matter. This week definitely won't go down in history as one of my favorites. I had been dreading going back to school to begin with, and then I get there to find out that my evil roomie (I may be exaggerating just a little, but she is not among the nicest people on the planet) decided that she was going to move out of our room without telling me before Christmas break so I could prepare for it. And moving out at my school means that I either have to buy out the room as a single for a thousand dollars or move in with someone else. So, thanks to my lovely roomie's great idea not to tell me ANYTHING about this move, I had a grand total of one day to move down to the first floor into another girl's room. _Wonderful_. At least my new roomie is a decent human being for a change and doesn't think I'm a loser because I prefer writing to going out and getting drunk. At least there's a silver lining to all this chaos.

In any case, I came back home for the weekend to de-stress. Now that I'm feeling better, I am more than ready to write, write, write! I apologize in advance if too much of my earlier bad mood creapt into this chapter. The Aimee section _is_ actually supposed to be a bit more serious than in the game for plot reasons (it is kind of sad on its own, if you think about it. Someone who is so desperate they would take a coerced declaration over nothing definitely has some problems to work through), but I hope nothing is too much of a downer. If it is, I will forward any complaints to my ex-roomie. As a little thank you for all she's done for me :)

Enjoy!

**10.** **The Ones Who Challenge Us** (in which Aimee's plans go awry and Soren needs to be taken care of)

The camp is in a fit of excitement, but Aimee feels somewhat isolated from the generally infectious energy flowing through it. The warriors have reason enough to be busy now that Ike and Skrimir have committed on tonight being the ideal night to launch their first attack on Begnion forces, but the shop girl, kept so distant from the actual military proceedings, has been forced to watch from afar as the action unfurls around her. The Greils have been too occupied with training to talk, and Ike has essentially become a non-presence around the camp due to the amount of time he spends locked in council with Skrimir, Ranulf, Soren, and Titania. Aimee has only seen him a few times in passing since their caravan joined his camp, and she has not yet been able to speak to him or make her continuing interest in him known. And what good is tagging along in his wake if he cannot even stop and see her, his inevitable future wife, and wish her well?

Sighing moodily, Aimee rearranges the merchandise in her store for what seems to be the thousandth time. At least she can count on _some_ sort of visitor today, since the army will need to purchase supplies before launching their attack. Unfortunately, she'll probably end up having to deal with Soren again, as money and stock concerns usually fall to him. _Wonderful_. Visits from Soren are her least favorite. After three seconds in her presence, he usually communicates to her solely through withering looks, condescending statements, and outright glares. After giving him the Hammerne staff three years ago, she had thought that he would be more patient and obliging to her, but then again, she had most likely negated everything good she had ever done on his behalf by constantly hounding him about Ike. She can vividly remember one instance when she asked him if he would be willing to pass along a note she had written to Ike containing a very well thought out and inventive love poem, and he'd responded by forbidding everyone in the company from purchasing items from her for an entire week. Needless to say, Muston hadn't been too thrilled about that little incident.

As she waits around apathetically for Soren's eventual appearance, Jorge pokes his head in. "Hey, we need some bandages out here, Aimes," he says, glancing around the shop to make sure he's not intruding on her with a customer. "Oscar's horse strained a muscle, and we need to bind the injury. Do you have any to spare?"

"Yes. 100G, please."

Jorge enters the rest of the way into the tent. "You're charging me? This is new. Dare I ask why?"

"I'm toying with the idea of giving the mercenaries a little discount at the shop. You know, as... enticement."

"Enticement...? Oh, are you saying Ike hasn't come to see you yet?" His mouth turns upward in a smirk. "Poor you. Hope the disappointment hasn't been too much for you to bear. Ah, well. At least you'll be seeing him in a few minutes."

Aimee brightens instantly. "I will?"

"Yes... they always come to the shop on battle days, remember?"

"But I was expecting Soren!"

"Soren has a lot on his plate at the moment. Apparently this Skrimir character is... very tactically challenged."

"So Ike is coming?"

"Yeah, that's what he said. He was just in the armory getting some additional weapons, and as soon as he's done there, he's coming here. Which should be any second now."

Aimee squeals in delight and does a little dance. "Oooh, it's like all my dreams are coming true! Jorge, would you mind stepping out for a moment so I can handle this properly?"

"Yes, I would."

"Oh, don't be jealous. As soon as I'm finished with Ike, I'll talk to you for as long as you want."

"That's not it. I came here for bandages for-"

She claps a hand over his mouth. "Ahh! I can hear his voice outside! You have to hide!"

"Why? I have a perfectly acceptable reason for being here!"

"A man as subtle as Ike would never declare his undying love in front of an audience! Please, he can't know you're here!"

"Absolutely no-"

With an apologetic smile, she gives him a swift kick to the knee. As he hunches over in protest, she places both hands on his back and shoves him underneath the makeshift counter just as Ike walks into the tent.

Thankfully, she recovers quickly. "If it isn't my very own hero," Aimee coos to him in a sugary voice, straightening the tablecloth so no sign of Jorge can be seen. "Come to see me at last. Somebody pinch me."

Jorge's hand creeps out and gives her a firm tweak on the ankle. She grimaces and kicks it back.

"Hello, Aimee," Ike says warily, glancing longingly back at the exit. "How have you been?"

"Absolutely miserable! You denied me of your handsome presence for three whole years! Luckily for you, my mercy knows no bounds." She leans forward and bats her eyelashes prettily. "You don't have to tell me what _you've_ been doing these three years. I can tell by looking at you that you've been getting all nice and fit just for me!"

"Huh," Ike says. "You haven't changed at all. I'll just get straight to the shopping."

"Oh dear, please don't rush! Er... Soren always takes his time when he comes here, and so should you."

"There isn't very much on the list," Ike responds doubtfully. He digs through his pockets for a moment. "Hmm, I could have sworn I remembered to actually bring it this time."

"You're welcome to stay here while you try to figure it out."

Jorge snorts under the table at this remark. She grits her teeth and kicks him again.

"Nah, I should go find Soren and have him write it out again. Only I was hoping not to interrupt him while he's busy." Ike slaps his palm against his forehead in annoyance. "How careless of me."

"No, don't go!" Aimee yelps, thinking quickly. "Maybe it's that white square pinned to your glove?" She reverently approaches his hand and slides the pin away from the note.

Ike takes it from her and unfolds it. "Wow, you're right. Guess my reputation for forgetfulness is catching up with me," he says sheepishly. "Let's see... he wants me to get one Mend staff, ten herbs, and a few torches. Great." He quickly sorts through her merchandise and finds what he needs. "How much will that be?"

"Done already? Are you sure? You wouldn't like me to whip you up a few concoctions while you're here?"

"Don't those take hours to brew?"

"Exactly."

"I'd rather just pay."

As he reaches to place his purchases down on the counter, she leans forward and snatches up his hand. "You've got such marvelous hands," she murmurs, awestruck by the sensation of holding them within hers. "So strong, but yet so gentle. They could bring down an entire army, but also hold someone with such care and tenderness. How beautiful."

"If you don't let go of them, they won't be able to hand you the money I owe you," Ike bluntly remarks.

"Ike, my sweetest, let's not ruin this romance with talk of money. Your voice would be better served serenading me with words of love!"

"This is a shop, Aimee. I am your customer. I fail to see what is so romantic about the situation."

"But you and I are holding hands... on the eve of a dangerous battle... and any minute now you could look me in the eyes and tell me that you'll do your best to come out of it alive. You could promise me that we'll be together when all of this is over. How could it _not_ be romantic?"

Ike gets a far away look in his eyes as she speaks as if he is remembering something else. "Seems like just yesterday," he murmurs absently. "Hmm."

"What does?"

"Hmm? Oh. Nothing. Are you ready to let me pay yet?"

She pouts dramatically, digging her nails into his hand. "Why must you play so hard to get? You're only making me more interested!"

"Aimee, I really need to get back out there to prepare for tonight."

"Tell me I'm the most beautiful woman in the world!" she declares boldly.

"And then you'll let go of my hand?"

"Of course. I'll even let you get a discount for all your purchases today. Oooh, no wait. You can have them for free!"

Ike's eyes light up. "For free? I'll get major points with everyone else if I can save us money."

"Yes! Just tell me I'm beautiful!"

"Okay. Here goes..."

"Don't you say another word, Ike," a voice from outside objects. Aimee quickly drops Ike's hand in surprise, and he uses his moment of freedom to reopen the tent and pull Soren in.

"Soren," Aimee hisses, shooting him an annoyed glare. "Aren't you supposed to be busy or something?"

"Not too busy to ignore what you're doing right now. Come on, Ike, let's go."

"But she's going to give me everything for free!" he protests.

"Nothing in life is free. If you say it, then she is going to make you pay somehow. Most likely she'll use that abnormally big mouth of hers to make sure everyone in the world know you're 'in love' with her."

"But I-" Ike frowns and folds his arms over his chest. "Aren't you exaggerating a little?"

"Are you doubting my guile, Ikey-poo?" Aimee asks crossly. "With my connections I could have the word spread to every corner of Tellius. Then you'd have no choice! We'd have to be together! What a wonderful thought!"

Ike nearly gags. "Wonderful? Uh, let's just forget this whole thing. Although it would have been nice to have all that free stuff..."

"Let me take care of it. Just stay away from her." Soren gives Ike a little push outside the tent and turns back to face Aimee. "Well, Miss Aimee. Looks like it just you and me again."

"I'm not going to let you con me out of anything this time. You just got me in trouble with Ike, you little brat!"

The mage merely smiles innocently. "Yes, you were doing quite a number on him before I intervened. Nothing like a little old fashioned coercion to get someone to fall in love with you."

"As if you could do any better!"

"Really?" Soren's face transforms instantaneously, shifting into a mask of slavish devotion. Aimee nearly falls over at the sight of it. It's just so... convincing. It's like he stole the look right off of her very own face. "Has anyone ever told you how beautiful you are, Miss Aimee? Like a vision. Surely there is no woman lovelier than you in all of Tellius!"

Aimee giggles, foremost in pleasure but mostly at the fact that _Soren_ of all people is saying such to her. "I suppose I've been proven wrong! You're such a little lady killer, Soren. You have me quite enchanted!"

"I know you won't make it free since it's coming from me, but perhaps you could give us a little discount? Ike will greatly appreciate it. And I as well, Goddess Divine."

"Decisions to decisions," she muses, flushing at his praise. "Maybe just a little discount..."

"Whatever you think is fair, Rose of Tellius. I will buy more than enough to justify your generosity."

"All right, all right you win! Go on your little shopping spree. If you keep it up, I may have to set my sights on you next."

"I'll come back later for the shopping later. Right now, I should check on Ike. He might be scarred after this whole experience. See you later, Aimee! Stay beautiful!" With a flippant wave, Soren darts out of the tent to catch up with Ike.

"That crafty little twit," Aimee grumbles as he walks away, quickly sobering up again. "Who knew he had that in him?"

"You could have asked me," Jorge snaps, crawling out from under the counter. "He's not the brains behind the army for nothing. By the way, that went incredibly well. You almost had Ike there for a moment."

"I can't believe I let him wriggle off of my hook!"

Jorge simply looks at her, aghast. "What is wrong with you, Aimee? I refuse to believe that all you need to be happy is people telling you you're beautiful without meaning it. Because that was exactly what you were doing with Ike and Soren. And you were eating it right up!"

"Who says they don't mean it? I know that I'm beautiful, Jorge. I've been told so since I was a child."

"If you already know, why do you need to hear it? What do you want from them?"

"Nothing. I was going to give them that discount no matter what they said. I was only having a bit of fun."

"And I'm the King of Daein. Aimee, could you just please be honest with yourself for a moment? Why does this thing with Ike matter so much to you? Why is it so important for you to have him love you when you know as well as I do that he doesn't?"

"Stop saying that. You're putting words in my mouth. He could love me. Maybe not now, but someday."

Jorge taps his foot impatiently. "Whatever. Why does it have to be him? I understand that you want to be loved and protected, but he's not the only person who can do that for you. That's what I really don't understand."

_He doesn't have any clue where I've come from or that any other me existed before I met him. I don't want to face up to the truth like you would make me do, Jorge. I want to be safe. You're not safe, but he is. _Too bad the honest answer is not only the hardest one to give, but also the most impossible one to believe in. She remains silent rather than acknowledge it. She brushes the words away as if she had never thought of them herself.

_"_I know there's something you're not coming clean about," Jorge persists. "If you have anything to say, you should just get it out. Clear the air while you still have time."

She turns away from him, hiding before he can see the stray tear falling from her eye. "Go away, Jorge. I don't want to talk. There's nothing to talk about."

"I want to help you, Aimee. This isn't who you are."

"Maybe it is," she snaps. "You're wasting your time. Just go."

"What about the bandages?"

"GO!" She shoves her fingers into her mouth to stifle the accompanying cry. _He ruins everything,_ she sobs inwardly. _Why can't he just leave me alone? I don't want to question everything. I just want to... to..._

She waits for the knowledge of what she truly wants to strike her like a bolt of lightning, but it doesn't. Her heart remains silent; if it has any message to give her, it has for some reason chosen not to. But still she waits, her back still turned and her eyes firmly shut, but her senses not numbed enough to fail to realize that Jorge refuses to be banished, but remains at her side as every salty tear falls and every bitter memory rises to the surface to haunt her with the doubt she does not wish to feel.

0o0o0o0o0o0o

Soren sits in front of the cauldron as it bubbles and spurts over the fire, watching as Oscar carefully cuts up his ingredients and dumps them into the savory mixture. For a moment he has a sick fantasy— a very, very wonderful and sick fantasy— involving Oscar taking a knife to Skrimir, chopping him up, and boiling him away in tonight's stew. As disgusting and messy as the idea is, Soren can't help but wonder if doing away with the boneheaded laguz general is really such an unreasonable thought. If they don't do something about him soon, he'll only end up forcing them to charge head first into the reviving Central Army, effectively killing them off in one fell swoop. In the end, Soren would rather kill than be killed, though he supposes the rest of the army would prefer him to save their lives through tactical strength over eliminating the problematic allied leader. Still, it's a nice thought.

"You hungry, too?" Ike asks, noting the uncharacteristic smile Soren is bestowing upon Oscar's stew. "It smells delicious."

"Uh, yes," Soren answers a bit untruthfully. For some reason he can't possibly fathom, Ike actually _likes_ Skrimir. It is advantageous in some respects, since Ike can usually convince Skrimir to go along with their strategy before Soren loses his temper and blows something up, but it drives Soren crazy sometimes to see Ike so welcome among those horrid and deceitful beasts. As much as he respects Ike's saint-like tolerance, he himself cannot reach out a hand of forgiveness to those who had scarred him in the past. He wonders briefly if anything would change if Ike knew the full extent of what they had done to him, how greatly they had frozen his heart against the world. Would he still approach them with the same spirit of acceptance and camaraderie, or would he rather proceed with caution, knowing how easy it is for them to reject their own flesh and blood as _Parentless_?

"I could probably eat the whole cauldron right now," Ike continues, lovingly inhaling the sweet aromas wafting through the air. "With all these battles, I haven't had the chance to properly fill up in awhile."

"You can have some of mine, Ike," Soren suggests.

"Don't be ridiculous."

"I'm not."

"Yes you are. You've been exhausted a lot recently. And having a lot of headaches. You probably need a well balanced meal more than anyone else here."

"I haven't been having headaches," Soren lies.

"Come off it. When you have a headache, your forehead furrows and your jaw clenches like this." Ike expertly mimics Soren's expression. "After you told me about my eye twitching problem when I'm sleepy, I tried to figure out if you did anything special when you were unwell," he explains.

"And I really do that?"

"Yup. Every time. There's no hiding anything from me anymore."

"Well," Soren grumbles, "you can hardly expect me to feel like skipping through the roses after working all day with Skrimir. I have to do all I can if I want to keep him from killing himself and us."

"You don't have to skip through roses if you don't want to. But you are going to eat." When Oscar finishes cooking the stew, Ike makes sure that both of them receive a healthy portion of it. Soren, in spite of not feeling very hungry, smiles gratefully at the gesture.

"Can I ask you something, Ike?" he murmurs as he spoons a pittance of his meal into his mouth. He waits for a moment as Ike chews his way through a mouthful of the food.

"Yes?"

"Did your father... ask you to do this?"

"Ask me to do what?"

Soren bites his lip. "When we were out at the lake that one time, you told me that you and your father always were concerned with me for not eating enough. And, well, I've noticed that I'm the only person you'll share food with. I was just wondering if it mattered so much to you because of him."

"I'm my own man, Soren. My father has served as a guide, but in the end I only do things that feel right to me. The reason I share with you is because you don't look after yourself. So I do it for you. And I will do it for you until you start doing it for yourself."

"I'm not a-"

"Child. Yeah, I know." Ike winds his tongue around his spoon, licking away every single morsel of stew. "But that doesn't give me leave to be indifferent. I care about every single person in my employ. Just because you're more prickly and stubborn than anyone else doesn't mean you should be left up to your own devices. You'd starve."

"Oh." Soren takes a larger bite of his meal. Suddenly it seems to taste extremely flavorful and appetizing. Strange.

Ike's face suddenly breaks into a grin. "You were really concerned about that?"

"Hmm?"

"About it being an obligation rather than something I really meant?"

"No one likes to feel like a charity case," Soren says defensively.

"But you don't really believe that I care about you, do you?"

"You allowed me to stay even though you knew I was Branded. I don't suppose you would have done that without reason."

"Even so, I can tell you still don't believe it. I wonder why not?" Ike sets down his spoon and studies Soren intently as if the answer is encrypted somewhere on his face. "I do care. I don't have an agenda or reason, really. I just do."

"I see."

"No you don't. You're not even looking at me."

Soren turns his head slightly. Ike is regarding him still, a strange look on his face. A smile, turned up on one side more than the other; perfectly lopsided. Eyes half lidded and crinkled at the corners. Head cocked at a curious angle, as if he is looking at something particularly novel.

For the first time, Soren wonders if it's not just wishful thinking on his part. Something in Ike's eyes is familiar, an emotion he has felt before. Perhaps somewhere— somewhere buried deep, a small, barely present part of Ike's large and loving heart— there exists an affection that mirrors Soren's own for Ike. His heart twists into a painful and beautiful knot. He wants to believe in it, he really does. Hope is a cruel thing to cling to, but he cannot help but grasp onto it for the shortest moment. That look in Ike's face could mean anything, but maybe, just maybe, it could mean the one thing he wants to see there the most.

Soren looks away for a minute, trying to catch his bearings. He spoons some more the stew into his mouth, chewing it slowly and attempting to steady his heart to the same pace. It does no one any good to enter into something like this irrationally, relying more on impulses and imagination than sound reasoning. If he doesn't collect himself, he's really no better than that idiot Skrimir in a sense. In fact, he's as good as Mist around that fool Boyd, panting away like an affectionate puppy or, goddess forbid, giggling and weak kneed under the spell of love. He's better than that.

But when he looks back again, Ike is still wearing the same perplexing expression on his face. Soren returns his smile uneasily, but can't keep himself from demanding, "Why are you looking at me like that?"

"Like what?" Ike asks innocently, tapping his fingers against his cheek. Soren quickly glances around the campfire to make sure no one else is witnessing this.

_Like I'm a piece of prime rib_, Soren thinks to himself. Out loud he says, "I don't know."

"Hmm. You're just proving to be particularly interesting tonight. So much I've never fully understood about you before is finally coming together."

"What do you mean?" Soren asks nervously.

"You're very unsure of yourself. I always wondered why you were so hesitant to talk about anything with me, especially that bit about being Branded, or why you used to sleep those nights in front of my room without ever letting me know that you were afraid. I thought it might be because you don't trust me. I mean, it would make sense considering your history. If I were you, I might be hesitant to throw my trust around lightly. But that isn't it, right? I think you actually do trust me."

"If I didn't, I wouldn't be here placing my life in the hands of the Laguz Alliance."

"Right. Maybe it's yourself you don't trust. I wonder why I never saw that before? I always thought it was something I was doing wrong that was holding you back, but I think now that it's something else. Something else you're afraid of."

"Ike..."

Ike shakes his head. "Hey, don't be sad. I'm actually kind of relieved, as stupid as that sounds. If _you_ didn't truly trust me, who would? Now that I've figured that out, maybe I can better help you face up to whatever makes you so hard on yourself. If you'll let me."

Soren closes his eyes and takes in a deep breath. This offer of Ike's is too tempting to pass up. He may be afraid to jump in just yet, but that doesn't mean he can't test the waters and see how much Ike actually knows. Or maybe _remembers_ is the better word. So much depends on this one recollection; now that he thinks of it, everything— his love for Ike, his hatred for the rest of the world, his hopes, his fears, his history— hinges on one single moment in time.

"Ike," he says carefully, his tongue feeling heavy as he speaks, "do you remember when you first met me?"

Ike purses his lips. "I was outside the fort training one day, and when I looked up from my exercise, there you were. Watching me. I asked you if there was anything you needed, and you told me you would like a job with whatever company I was in. I told you all about the mercenaries, and you introduced yourself as a mage and tactician. You talked as if you were the most qualified and intelligent person on the planet, but I thought you looked a little sick and underfed... kind of like you still do now. I thought maybe if I took you into meet my father, we could help you grow stronger."

Soren smiles momentarily at this memory, even though it isn't the correct one. "You don't remember meeting me before that?"

"I did know you before that?" Ike asked, surprised. "I guess I don't remember, in that case. Strange. Was it long before my first memory of you?"

"Somewhat." The mage sighs in disappointment. "Don't worry about it. It's not that important."

"Judging by the look on your face, it most definitely is. I'll get to work on trying to remember."

"Don't. The Central Army is our concern at the moment. We should stay on task."

"The Central Army will get what's coming to them. Don't worry about that. But my entire life isn't going to be centered around this campaign in Begnion. I'm going to keep looking forward to the future, and you're more important to me than this cause in the long run. Whether you believe that or not."

"Oh..." Soren murmurs, too flushed to argue further. "If you're sure."

"I usually am," Ike says wryly. "Your stew is getting cold."

"You really have a one track mind about food, Ike."

"I wasn't thinking about food," Ike says, smiling enigmatically. "I was thinking about you."

0o0o0o0o0o

**A/N: **Coming up: a certain Ike hating "Maiden of the Sunbeams" enters the fray ;) Our hero will undoubtedly have something to say to the fellow Branded mage, not all of it pleasant. Stay tuned!


	11. The Ones Who Are Our Cores of Warmth

**A/N: **My apologies for how LONG this chapter is and how much game plot it covers (since I usually assume everybody already know the plot). Soren's conversations with Micaiah are just too rife with implications to ignore, and whether you love her or you hate her, many details in her character parallel Soren's in a very interesting way. I hope all of these things come across here. Enjoy!

**11. The Ones Who Are Our Cores of Warmth **(in which Soren makes plans, Micaiah is lectured, and the world will never be the same again)

"We're running out of options," Ranulf says frankly, yanking off his sopping boots and dumping the water onto the ground in a puddle. "After tonight, we may have to rethink things. Surrender may be the only safe thing we can do."

Skrimir growls his objection. "Surrender? I will never shake hands with those human murderers! I would sooner die in a hopeless battle than suffer the same of surrender!" He leaps to his feet and begins to pace the room. "There must be something we can do!"

"Skrimir, don't be foolish. This ambush at the Ribahn was just the beginning. Daein is intent on ending this war for Begnion. If that means killing every single one of our warriors, they won't hesitate." Ranulf sighs and kneads his forehead in consternation. "With Daein blocking our retreat and Begnion waiting for us in every other direction, we're dead if we continue to fight."

"These Daein humans... I thought their forces were practically nonexistent after their two recent wars. Why are they giving us so much trouble? They should be nothing to us. Nothing!"

"The Maiden," Ike murmurs. "They say she's turned the army around singlehandedly."

"Ah, yes. That Micaiah girl." Ranulf frowns thoughtfully. "I talked to her tonight. Her and Sothe. She is a very... strange and formidable young woman."

"Is what they say about her true?" Soren asks. "That she is a goddess to these people?"

"Practically. Sothe certainly seemed pretty determined to follow her blindly, and I never thought he of all people would be ruled over by someone like her. And it's not only him. Jill and Zihark were there tonight as well. And... well..." He looks cautiously at Ike. "The Black Knight."

"What the hell is going on with Daein?" Ike sighs bleakly. "They have no reason to be involved in this."

"Pah!" Skrimir snorts. "They have always hated the laguz! They must wish to hunt us until we are all dead!"

"Sothe is no enemy of the laguz," Titania disagrees. "I don't think he would agree to support a general whose main goal is to exterminate them."

"But if he's in love with her, which he seems to be..." Ranulf trails off and shakes his head. "Whatever the case is, Sothe and the rest of them believe in her, and that belief is dangerous. We could perhaps get Jill and Zihark back to us with the help of Haar and Ilyana, but the rest of the Daein army is a lost cause. They are our enemies. And we will be killed by them if we don't surrender."

"But we have our tactician!" Skrimir cries, zeroing in on Soren. "He got us across that river once; why can't he do it again? Let's do what we did last time and sneak behind their dirty, murdering backs!"

Titania shrugs doubtfully. "It's never a good idea to use the same strategy twice. They won't fall for it."

"That may not be true in this case," Soren says slowly. "The Daeins seem to be no better no better than pawns in this conflict. Begnion is the largest continent on Tellius, and they tend to believe that every other nation is expendable. Chances are they haven't even told Daein about what maneuvers we've used in the past."

"So you think we could do it again, little tactician?" Skrimir asks enthusiastically.

"Yes. We could. Surrender, of course, would be preferable. Even though we could get the bulk of the army across the river, the force that faces the Daein army will have no easy time of it. Dealing with the Maiden's fanatics is one thing, but if the Black Knight is involved..."

"We can't surrender!" Skrimir says at the same time Ike says, "I'll take care of the Black Knight."

"No," Soren objects, directing this at Ike.

"I've done it before, and I'm still here."

"If we hold them off for long enough, the laguz army will safely cross. Once they cross, the Daein army will be sent into a panic. There's no need to fight the Black Knight. Or Sothe. Or the Maiden, if we'd rather not."

"Soren. If he's there, I can't just ignore him."

"We'll deal with discussing that later," Skrimir says dismissively. "We must prepare for this advance right away. I better have a word with King Tibarn and Prince Reyson before we proceed."

"Yes. We'll disband for now," Ranulf agrees. "Goddess knows that I could use a good toweling off after all the wading through the river."

With a few parting comments, both Ranulf and Skrimir wander out of the tent, followed shortly by Titania. Soren lingers for a moment, puzzling out this prospective new battle in his mind's eye, and Ike remains beside him, watching the gears turning in his head.

"It's good that you've agreed to do this," Ike states after a few minutes of silence. "Wonderful, in fact."

"You think so? I never thought you would consider going along with one of Skrimir's harebrained ideas as one of the highlights of my existence."

He shrugs. "I'm just glad to see you behaving civilly to the laguz. And for once you actually seem genuinely invested in helping them."

"I still don't care for them. I just happen to care even less for Daein."

"Which is something. There are many people in this world who side with the Daein army or Begnion solely because they are beorc. Even if they agreed more with the ideology of the Alliance, they would rather forsake their principles than band together with a race they find unclean. It makes me glad to know that you're not like that."

"I'm not a complete monster, you know."

"I never thought you were. Though I can't relate to how you feel about the laguz, you at least have a justification for your anger. Unlike most people in this world, who only hate because it's been bred into them. All the same, I'm happy that you can set aside your feelings in order to do what is right. It's an admirable quality."

"One that I've undoubtedly picked up from you."

Ike smiles humbly. "Thank you. Now we'll just have to show Daein yet again what happens when they choose the wrong side of the battle. Are you up to it?"

"Of course. Just say the word."

0o0o0o0o0o0o

Everything leads back to Daein, he's realized.

_Everything_. By all accounts, they should have been out of the picture after the Man King's war, but somehow they had managed to survive despite the broken state of their nation. Soren had witnessed the damage himself, and he hadn't thought they'd be able to repair it so easily. The flooded village courtesy of Shiharam, the neglected castle Ashnard had abandoned, the paths and bridges burned to halt the Crimean advancement. And then the Begnion brutes had stepped in and deteriorated the nation further. They should have fallen, after all of that. They should have never survived to haunt Crimea further.

But they are back, alive and breathing. Soren sees them sprouting like specters from the Ribahn, their black armor barely visible against the dark veil of the night sky. _Daein_. For some reason he just can't escape them, no matter how hard he tries. They are entwined somehow, though he can't imagine how or why. There is no place he hates more in all the world, no place he finds more completely and utterly repulsive. Not just because of Ashnard, but because of how it had poisoned all of them during the war. Especially Ike. Daein had been unforgiving towards the hero, hating him and blackening his name because he had done the right thing and prevented them from their fatal path. Soren can never forgive them for that. Ike is good and noble and pure, and who are they, the hateful, uncaring Daeins, to judge him?

"It ends now," he mutters darkly. "They will learn tonight why we will never fall to them."

Ike steps up beside him, his blade at the ready. "The Alliance is on the move. Our forces should advance before they catch wind of our plans."

"Go on and lead the charge. I'll follow shortly."

"Take care." At Ike's signal the mercenaries move out, breaking through the fog coating the night and heading toward the black figures waiting for them in the river.

Once Ike is a safe distance away, Soren gestures to Haar, and the wyvern knight lands his mount gracefully beside him. "I trust you remember everything we discussed?" he asks in a low voice.

"Yeah," Haar responds, holding back a yawn. "Find Jill, and convince her to rejoin through any means necessary. Then I'll fly over to the mainland so I can keep an eye out for the Black Knight. If Ike tries to fight him and seems to be struggling in any way, I need to get him out of there before any damage is done. No napping until these two missions are complete."

"And?"

"And? Oh! I am also supposed to send Jill directly to you after I speak with her. She'll ferry you over to where Daein's general is so that you can talk to her. Although she may not be too happy if you attack Micaiah. From what I've heard, that girl saved Daein's skin, and if Jill truly loves anything, it's Daein. Goddess knows why. Those bastards turned on her father in a heartbeat and left him to die."

"I know. But I have no intention of harming the priestess, provided that she does not attack first. The Alliance should arrive before it comes to that."

"Very well. Should I be off?"

"Yes. When Jill needs to find me, I'll be tailing the other mercenaries to the west. Good luck." With a parting nod, Haar and his wyvern are off soaring into the air.

_Now down to business_, Soren thinks in dismay, glaring down at the water lapping against his knees. He tries not to pay any mind to the fact that he has absolutely no idea how to swim should he fall, but instead devotes himself to taking stock of the battlefield. The Daeins are surprisingly competent considering what they have been through recently. They're certainly no match for the mercenaries, but they are well organized and determined to win, and what they lack in raw ability, they make up for in tenacity. Unlike the Begnion troops, which tend to get confused and skittish at the first sign of defeat, these soldiers seem to strengthen as they fall, as if by force of will they can turn the tide of battle back against Ike's troops. Soren can't help but be somewhat impressed. They are fools and dead men, but at least they have some manner of courage.

He is in no doubt that the Maiden is the source of this new resolve. That is why he wishes to see her, even though he'd rather join Haar in guarding Ike from the Black Knight. Any woman who can turn the failing Daein nation into a threat large enough to give the Alliance pause is a worthy enemy, and one who does it without provocation is even more of a concern. He feels compelled to pick her apart and discover what cause is driving her. As much as he hates to admit it, Daein could become a real challenge for them if they allow this sketchy priestess to run about unchecked. If her people truly worship her, she could convince them into anything: the extermination of the laguz, and worse, the extermination of the Greil Mercenaries.

He's already learned bits and pieces about her from Muston, Aimee, Ilyana, Jorge, and Daniel. Each of them liked her well enough, but they all had their little warnings to add.

"She was nice, but not very powerful," was Ilyana's assessment. "Not like Ike. But she had these powers that made her strong. She could heal with a single touch and made all sorts of predictions that usually came true. It was amazing, but I don't know how she did it."

"Micaiah always seemed fond of the laguz we traveled with, so if she's against the Alliance, something else has convinced her into it," Muston guessed. "She defers to King Pelleas even though she's the more intelligent of the two, so perhaps he has a hand in this. I wouldn't put it past him."

"She's pretty, but in a plain sort of way," Aimee informed him very unhelpfully, and Daniel added, "She's the real ruler of Daein. People will follow her over anyone else, but she acts mostly according to the King's wishes. Pelleas can usually be convinced to do what she wants, but sometimes his mother instructs him in a different direction."

But most interesting to Soren was Jorge's remark: "She's no friend of Ike's. She holds him accountable for Daein destruction, and nothing can convince her otherwise. Micaiah may hesitate when it comes to seriously harming the laguz, but if she can find a way to stop Ike, I don't think she'll think twice about it."

And that is why he must see her. He doubts he can halt her plans or take her out himself, but he can and will make absolutely certain she knows what will happen if she turns the wrath of her fanatics in the direction of Ike. Divine priestess or not, he would sooner anger the goddess by having her dead than permit her to live and have her destroy a man both better and more just than she.

0o0o0o0o0o0o

After a time spent slogging through the water and finishing off the remnants of the mercenaries' original attack, he sees Jill flying over him and pulling her mount down into a dive. "Soren!" she calls out as she pulls astride him. "Good to see you still alive and well. Hop on."

"I see you've had a bit of a change of heart about this battle."

She bristles slightly. "Daein may be my home, but Haar is my family. And I can't... I just can't turn my back on Mist and Lethe. They would be horrified if I became a laguz hunter like the rest of them."

"Is that what these attacks against the Alliance have been about?"

"N-no. All I know is that King Pelleas has a reason for this war, and Micaiah believes in him."

"But you don't?"

"I would usually believe in her, but I can't this time. The King is wrong. We have no reason to fight you."

She takes a dip; they've reach the mainland. Soren can see that the mercenaries are nearby, well within the Black Knight's line of sight. He looks up. Haar is carefully monitoring the situation, and for now that will have to be enough. If he keeps this short, he may still be able to return in time to keep Ike from challenging his father's killer and putting himself at risk of a fight he is not ready for.

"Sothe is distracted at the moment, so you'd better go now," Jill advises. "Approach her carefully. She may sense your arrival and attack."

"Could you-"

"Yes, I was just about to join Haar in watching Ike. He'll be fine." She grins and eases her wyvern back into flight. "Be careful!"

Soren has little time to be annoyed at her smugness. Something nags at him the moment he looks upon Micaiah, like an itch traveling uncomfortably across his skin. The same kind that plagued him whenever he accidentally crossed paths with Stefan three years ago. _Branded_, his mind instantly formulates, though he cannot truly believe it. _No way. People are obsessed with this girl. She can't be a part of the most hated race of Tellius._

But the strange sensation attacking his nerves does not lie. He cannot ignore his instinctive knowledge of what she is. She is Branded. She is like him.

He can tell that she feels it, too. Her attention is torn away from the battle, and she scratches her arms in a panic, looking wildly across the field. Eventually her eyes find his, and she freezes. Her fingers go slack and the tome she is clutching nearly falls to the ground. As if pulled by a magnet, she steps unsteadily forward, wobbling her way towards him.

"Y-you!" she cries. Despite the silver hair, she has the voice of a little girl. He cringes away from it without meaning to. This priestess... this Daein scum, Maiden of her misinformed followers sounds just as young and innocent as Mist. How can that be? How can this mere girl seek to be the means of Ike's downfall? It's like a swan standing up to a tiger. A hopeless fight if he's ever seen one.

"You," she says again, trembling slightly. "You are like me. I can sense it! W-who are you? You are not from my army!"

"I am with Ike."

"Him!" She frowns for a moment, but it is wavering. "You are my enemy if you serve that man, but I do not wish to fight you. I will not harm my brethren."

"I am no brother of yours," Soren says darkly. "You are a threat, a danger, and an enemy. You mean to stand in Ike's way, and such a simple connection between us will never keep me from stopping you."

"Y-yes. I do stand in his way. But I... I do what I do for Daein. I will not let him cross!"

"Daein," he scoffs. "What grief does Daein have with the Alliance? We have not harmed you in any way. And having just escaped Begnion's grasp, why do you rush back so eagerly?"

He can see tears pooling in her eyes, but feels no sympathy. "King Pelleas would not lead Daein astray," Micaiah says in an unconvincing voice. "I trust him."

"Your trust is misplaced. You have no place here."

"What place do you have? Why do the beorc... and you, a Branded... fight in the name of the laguz?"

"Ike is their friend and ally. He feels they have been treated unjustly and means to give them the chance at equality and justice they've been denied."

"Ah," Micaiah sighs. "He is noble when it comes to them. So Sothe has been telling me. But that doesn't matter. I cannot forgive him his sins against Daein. I just can't."

"And we will not forgive Daein's sins against us."

"I see. You were by his side in that war, too." Her grip tightens against her tome. "I feel it inside you. You really are like me. I fight for Daein and you fight for him. We are so similar, but I can feel the strength of your hatred for me. Why? You understand the reasons why someone will sacrifice everything for what they love. Why do you judge me harshly if you understand?"

"I'm not the one posing as a hero, Maiden. You and I are the ones in the wrong. We do things both good and evil to keep our loves safe. We sacrifice what we believe in, do what we loathe doing, and throw everything else aside for them. We are too selfish to be heroes. It's people like Ike and even Elincia who are the good people of the world. They do not act in their own interest or behave wrongly in the name of love. All they do is the right thing under any circumstance. No matter what that might be."

"But this _is_ the right thing," she insists passionately. "Protecting Daein is the rightest thing I've ever known!"

"Oh? And have any of us threatened Daein's safety since Ashnard's death?"

"No, but-"

"And has the Alliance insulted your rights or freedoms in any way?"

"...no."

"Then you have a strange concept of what is right. In your heart, you are no better than I am. If you attack those whom you have no complaint against all because your fool of a king bids you to it without reason, you are no hero. You are just a human. A foolish, blind, insipid human."

"But I..." Desperately she reaches out to grab his arm, but jerks her hand back as soon as her skin comes in contact with his. "Oh! You... you're so cold!"

"Excuse me?"

"Inside, you are frozen. The force of it is overwhelming, like nothing I've ever sensed before. Where is the warmth of the blood in your veins?"

"If I am cold, it is my blood that makes me so. I thought you would understand, or have you been spared of it's curse? Surely you have not always been to Daein what you are to it now."

Micaiah ignores this remark, an absent expression on her face, much like the kind Reyson wore whenever he was eavesdropping on someone's inner emotions. "I feel something through the ice," she murmurs distantly. "There is something in your heart that is melting it slowly. There is someone you love... someone you love very much. Someone strong enough to chip away at this glacier inside you." Her golden eyes fill with understanding. "Ah. I see. No wonder your dislike for me is so great. I am... sorry. But I can't let him pass. You are right about me; I am no hero. But my king has placed me here for a reason, and I will not let him or Daein down!"

"Ridiculous girl," he snaps harshly. "You presume to understand me, but you do not comprehend anything. You will never hope to stop Ike if you have no more than a lie to fight for."

Micaiah lifts up and opens her tome, her expression suddenly hard. "You may be my kind, but that does not change that you are my enemy. I am done listening to you. You will go no further!"

"I'll give you three seconds to drop that weapon, Maiden!" a voice calls from above. Both Soren and Micaiah look up to see Jill, Haar, and Ike circling the area where they are standing. With a flick of the reigns, both wyverns come spiraling down to land on either side of Micaiah. Ike leaps down from Haar's and points his sword at her neck. "I'm waiting."

She looks over his shoulder and sees the rest of the mercenaries approaching from behind him. "Ike!" she gasps, her voice faint. "W-what have you done with Sothe?"

"He's out for a swim at the moment. But don't worry, he'll be fine. Ulki and Janaff are keeping watch on him. Now drop your tome."

It slips from her fingers and falls to the ground. "My men," she whispers.

"They've either fallen or withdrawn. You should never have come here, Micaiah. This is not Daein's affair."

Her head shakes in confusion. "The Black Knight... he could not have fallen to you. I d-don't understand."

Ike grimaces. "You're right. He wouldn't have fallen to me tonight. Unfortunately for you, he is receiving word at the moment that the Alliance have successfully crossed the Ribahn, and thus cannot be of any help to you at the moment. You've lost."

"How...?" Her mouth opens and closes repeatedly like a fish gasping for air. "Ah! You outmaneuvered us, and I could not even foresee it. What is... happening to me?"

"You're playing with fire. I would suggest you stop if you do not wish to be run down where you stand."

"I... I..." She turns to Soren, frowning. "We will surrender to you now. I do not care to fight any longer. Perhaps if I return to Daein and speak with King Pelleas, our continued involvement in this war may possibly be averted."

"A wise decision." Ike lowers his blade. "And you will permit us to leave here without giving chase?"

"...yes. So long as you return Sothe to me and leave at once."

"All right. Ulki is pulling him out as we speak."

"You have my thanks." She bends down to pick up her tome and tuck it away in her bag. For a moment she looks again at Soren. "I hope we meet under better terms next time our paths cross," she says softly. "I will reflect on what you've said."

Soren nods, stepping away to permit her to pass through them on her way to retrieve Sothe.

As she walks away, Ike takes hold of Soren's wrist and tugs it roughly. "I hope this doesn't start becoming a common theme with you," he growls. "Next time you decide to do something like this, would you please tell me first?"

"You would have stopped me."

"You're damn right I would have! For the next few battles I am chaining you to my side so you don't try this again. She could have attacked you in a heartbeat, or Sothe or one of her other followers could have struck you while you were trying to speak with her. From here on out, I absolutely forbid you to take these chances with your life. Whatever you were trying to accomplish cannot possibly be worth it."

"Says the one who was all ready to attack an indestructible knight on his own," Soren retorts. "And you're calling me reckless?

Ike frown disappears for a moment. "All right, all right. You were right to go behind my back there. But I am being dead serious with you. No more secret missions without my approval. Promise?"

"You must admit, it was flawlessly executed."

"I have no plans of admitting to anything. Now promise me."

"I... ah, fine. You have my word, if it will make you happy."

"It will. Now c'mon and let's get away from this goddess forsaken river. Greil Mercenaries, move out!"

He pulls Soren along with him, his hand still locked around his wrist, leading the way as if Soren even needs encouragement to follow him wherever he wants to go. He usually loathes when Ike's anger is directed at him, but this display of frustration is something different. This is not anger born of Soren's defects, harsh tongue, or occasional cruelty, but anger founded on concern and love. Perhaps he, like Soren once had when Ike fought the Black Knight without his aid, had thought himself on the verge of losing something dear to him, and had been overcome by his inability to halt the flow of fate or prevent the worst from happening. Soren's hopeful side is only fledgling, but it tells him firmly that this is the only reasonable answer. Ike's insistent and wrenching grip on his arm can't possibly be true, burning anger. Soren knows anger better than anything else, and anger has never felt this indescribably wonderful ever before.

0o0o0o0o0o0o

There are _trousers_ dangling down from the tree.

Soren thinks he is imagining it at first. He has to be. He only left for five minutes to help Mist and Jill set up their tent, but during that time the entirety of the camp had somehow decided to band together and arrange all of their wet clothes around the fire. Which would have been reasonable enough if some creative genius hadn't come to the conclusion that the ground was too cluttered with cloaks, boots, tunics, and stockings, and that everyone's pants needed to be thrown up in a tree whose branches dangle over the fire in order for them to become properly dry.

"I am not seeing this," Soren mutters, rubbing his eyes. But sure enough, the pants remain on their perch, flapping tauntingly in breeze. _Unbelievable_. It's as if he's never taught any of them anything about fire hazards. It would serve them right if he left their clothes up there and they all fell one by one into the flames. Anyone stupid enough to go along with such a dumb idea deserved to have their things burned to a crisp.

Fortunately for them, he's feeling particularly merciful tonight. As funny as it would be to see their faces in the morning as they realized what had become of their clothes, they don't have the time or the resources to replace them at such a short notice. Mist is a decent enough mender and Aimee has a small selection of cloth available in case of an emergency, but with Begnion and possibly Daein at their backs, they don't have the option of sitting back and sewing things for everyone. No matter what sort of misfortunes befall them, they have to plow forward. Clothes or no clothes.

Soren stands on his toes and begins untangling the clothes from the branches. They're all thoroughly soaked and stink of the Ribahn, but he grits his teeth and removes them anyway. The sooner he gets this done, the sooner he can go to bed like everyone else and rest awhile before they resume their retreat. Even though the prospect of rest seems unlikely, especially with everything that is running through his mind with enough persistence to keep him awake for hours, brooding. Micaiah has certainly given him a lot to think and worry about. He hopes this is the last he'll see of her, though he is no longer as wary of her power and influence as he had been before meeting her. He has more reason to be afraid of her other power, the one she exercised so easily on him not long after they had met. _Inside, you are frozen_, she had said, as if she had somehow caught a glimpse of his heart as they argued._ Where is the warmth of the blood in your veins? _But how could she have known? And what else would she expose in him, if given the chance?

With a snort of disgust, he yanks Rolf's shorts from the tree, sending a shower of leaves sailing into the fire. As he makes to toss them aside along with the others, he feels them being snatched right out of his hands. Surprised at the intrusion, he turns his head to the side to see who has caught him in the act of messing with their things. But Ike is the only one standing there, his expression powerful and unreadable in equal measure. He drops the clothes to the ground without breaking his gaze. "It's late," he says.

"I have to-"

A finger finds its way to Soren's lips, pushing them back. "You've done enough tonight," Ike says softly. There is a tightness to his eyes and mouth that trembles slightly, as if on the verge of easing back and revealing something else. "Soren, I know you don't think you took any major risk by confronting Micaiah, but if something had happened to you out there, I don't know what I'd..." He falls silent, the depth of his frown increasing.

Soren tries to respond to him, to assure him that he knew exactly what he was doing and that the disobediant act had been done entirely for his benefit, but the scent and feel of Ike skin overwhelms him, crippling his ability to think and speak. The area where they connect together burns intensely, and Soren is almost surprised that it doesn't catch fire. The world is too calm and quiet for this to be happening. There should be trumpets and explosions to match the power of this feeling flowing within him, a feeling too strong and overwhelming not to surrender to. But the only sounds that break through the night are the crackle and pop of the fire, the repetitive songs of crickets, the distant, muffled snores creeping through tent flaps, the shaky intakes of breath coming from his mouth and then Ike's.

Ike's finger travels across the expanse of his lips, and suddenly, without warning, his hand is tenderly cupping Soren's cheek. As it unfolds against his pale skin, the tips of his fingers weave gently into the mage's dark hair and smooth it back. At every movement, the hard and coarse patches on his palm rub against Soren's cheek, sending excited shivers down his spine. It doesn't hurt or feel uncomfortable like he thought it might, considering the amount of scars and blisters marring Ike's weathered hand. The touch is too gentle to deliver anything unpleasant along with it. Ike handles him with as much delicacy as one would handle a breakable object, as if any sharp movement or clumsy step would shatter him completely and cause him to be lost forever, never to be restored or made whole again.

He feels himself stop breathing. He racks his brain to find a way to start again, but it's impossible to even remember how. What need has he to remember? If he died right now, he would be happy. This is what he has been waiting his entire life for. To be cherished. To be _loved_. Now that it has happened and he believes in it without reverting to denial and doubt, he needs nothing more out of his life. It could end at this very moment and he would feel no sense of bitterness because right now, with this rough and gentle hand pressed against his upturned face, he is at last complete.

After a long and perfect minute of this intimate connection, Ike's hand slides away slowly and regretfully and Soren's breathing gradually resumes. They stand there in silence for a few moments, studying each other intently, looking as if they have never seen one another before, but at the same time gazing upon a face known intimately and treasured deeply. It's as if in a single moment everything they had ever understood about each other has been erased and rewritten. Nothing existing around them is the same as it had once been only minutes earlier. Even the dying fire seems to be reborn in a new light and the unchanging chirp of the crickets becomes a song of aching truth and beauty. Every single particle in the world has shifted. With a single touch, the world has been reborn.

Ike clears his throat, reawakening them both but dispelling nothing. "Bed," he says in a gruff voice, pointing towards Soren's tent. "You've done enough. Go to sleep."

"But the-"

"I'll take care of it. Go to sleep. We have work to do in the morning."

"But I..." He trails off, wondering what he is arguing for. The thought of sleep, of a nice warm bedroll to retreat to and relive this night over and over again in the realm of dreams is too glorious to turn down, espcially when Ike is looking at him with eyes that unquestionably demand his obediance. "All right," he acquiesces. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight, Soren. Sleep well and pleasant dreams." As if they could be anything but pleasant with what has just passed between them.

Before Soren turns away, he feels something flare to life and settle peacefully beneath his skin. He winces for a moment, but not because it hurts. It actually feels quite nice, though it's a strange sensation, something he's never felt before. Like a thread of warmth weaving through him, pouring like liquid fire into his veins.

_There is something in your heart that is melting it slowly, _a voice murmurs into his ear._ There is someone you love... Someone strong enough to chip away at this glacier inside you. _But the voice does not belong to Micaiah, even though the words do. It Ike's voice he hears, Ike's voice that diffuses and deepens the warmth. _Let me be the one to free you of the pain you feel._

He had told her that she had no right to presume to know him, but much as he hates to admit it, the idiot Maiden was right. Somehow, though she had seemed so blind and aimless to him, she had seen him exactly for what he was- for both the cold and bitter product of his past and the emerging warmer person that Ike made him- and understood him with even more clarity than he understood himself. Without having any way of knowing, she had somehow _known. _

_Will_ _wonders never cease._

0o0o0o0o0o0o

**A/N: **Oh, Ike. You worry way too much. I make Soren do all sorts of dangerous things in POR and RD without him having trouble. Like the time I accidentally left him in the Black Knight's range... thankfully someone with provoke and waay more HP was right next to him to take the hit. I'd like to see how Ike would react to something like that :)


	12. The Ones Who Open Our Eyes

**A/N: **Wow, I am getting closer and closer to the end here. Excluding this one, there should be 3 or 4 more chapters left. Aimee, Jorge, Soren, and Ike are still in need of a little closure, and it's up to them to find it before Ashera finds them first ;)

Thanks to everyone who keeps on sticking with me. Your comments and support keeps me going. Thank you, thank you, thank you, and I love you all!

Enjoy!

**12. The Ones Who Open Our Eyes **(in which Aimee is jealous, plans are made, and chaos reigns)

"Did you see what happened last night?" Jill giggles as she fetches water from the nearby stream accompanied by Mist. "At dinner?"

Jorge watches them from the comfort of his tent, lazily following them with lidded eyes as they complete their morning chores. This is how he gets his fair share of camp gossip, by listening to these two prattle on before they get caught up in the business of the day. They would never talk so freely if they knew he was listening, especially since most of their talk centers on Boyd and Haar and all their charm and "dreaminess," but every once in awhile they come up with something interesting that he would never have heard of otherwise, such as the story of Gatrie's humorous attempt at wooing Lyre or the duel Ilyana and Skrimir had gotten into over the last piece of Oscar's famous marinated steak.

"Something happened last night at dinner?" Mist asks eagerly, a smile lighting up her features. "I didn't see. What was it?"

"Oh, I didn't see it either. But Nephenee told me that Brom told her that he saw your brother smiling very sweetly at Mia over the mashed potatoes."

Mist snorts and rolls her eyes. "Jill, this is Ike we're talking about. He was probably smiling sweetly at the mashed potatoes, and Brom misinterpreted it."

Jill groans at her friend's wet blanket behavior. "Ugh, Mist, you're no fun. As commander of the army, he has to have _some_ sort of romantic intrigue to keep things interesting. And Mia's very pretty and fun, so why not her?"

"I don't know. It just doesn't seem like something he'd do, okay?"

"But don't you want a sister-in-law one day?"

"Yeah, maybe. But I don't think she's the right person."

"Well, I'm convinced there's something there worth looking into. Just you wait and see!" The two girls walk on, taking their discussion elsewhere where he can't hear. Not that he particularly needs to hear what they're saying. He knows what direction Jill is going with this, and it all amounts to nothing.

The more time goes by, the more and more he is convinced that the 'Laguz Alliance' is the wrong name for their ragtag band of warriors. They are better suited to something more honest like 'the army of the blind and oblivious,' because that is exactly what they are. The obvious dances right in front of their eyes, but none of them ever see it, and if they do, they dismiss it as imagination or deceit. It's as if they've all been collectively equipped with blinders. They observe and critique and gossip as if they understand what is going on around them, but none of them really, truly _knows._ Not a single one.

Jorge does not pretend to be particularly intelligent or sharp, but he at least understands how to acknowledge what he sees in front of him. His original guess that Ike would end up with Soren had been a stab in the dark, but what he witnesses now confirms all the reasons it wasn't entirely unfounded. Ever since the successful retreat from Begnion, the two have pretty much been guaranteeing through their actions that the bet with Aimee is in the bag. Their feelings, once carefully veiled and hard for an outsider to catch, have become glaringly evident, but no one else notices, not even Ike and Soren themselves. All of the tender glances they exchange, the unnecessary physical contact they enter into, the smiles from the typically cold Soren, the considerateness of the notoriously blunt Ike... each little thing comes to pass without anyone, not even the perpetrators, understanding what it means.

Maybe he has Aimee to thank for his observant side. If it wasn't for her complex and ever shifting personality forcing him to study the every tic and tilt of her face to figure out her true feelings whenever she attempted to laugh them away, he would probably be just like everyone else. Seeing only what he wants to see, and drawing conclusions that make the best fantasy, no matter how far they are from the truth. It's a relief to know that something good has come from all the run around she's put him through, and that, without even trying to, she taught him how to walk through the world with open eyes, conscious of what is real versus what he wishes to be true.

A voice- _her _voice- brings him back to reality before he loses himself in these thoughts. "What are you smiling at?" she asks accusingly, glancing around the camp to see what has been amusing him. Her eyes fall on Mist and Jill's retreating backs and a frown settles on her pretty face. "Did your lady friends just come to visit?"

He blinks, reorienting himself. "Aimee? Where did you come from?"

"The shop. Where do you think? I wanted to ask you if I could dig into the treasury to buy a bow off of Shinon, but apparently _you _are too busy daydreaming to be of any use to me today."

Jorge shrugs innocently. "My apologies, I was just having a little thought."

"So it seems. I suppose you're glad to have that perky little Fizzart girl back at camp?"

"Jill? What do you mean?"

"Don't play games with me. You were just staring off in her direction with a goofy smile on your face, 'just having a little thought'."

"I was thinking about our bet, thank you very much. About how it is on the verge of ending."

Aimee bows her head in a sham of humbleness, her annoyance forgotten. "Ooh, do you really think so? You think Ike is about ready to declare his undying affection?"

And he had thought _Jill _was embarrassingly oblivious. Shame on him for thinking anyone could dare hold a candle to Aimee.

"Wrong again. But a certain romantic rival of yours is very close to hearing some sort of declaration from Ike. It could be any day now."

She scowls at him witheringly. "If you're talking about Mia like everyone else, I'm not impressed. I could run circles around that girl without even trying."

"Undoubtedly. But she's not the person I'm referring to."

"Who then? Don't think I haven't been keeping tabs on my man. He's only spoken frequently of late to Titania, Soren, Ranulf, Skrimir, Reyson, Tibarn, Oscar, and Mist. And trust me, I'm not at all threatened by Titania."

"I wasn't suggesting you should be."

She sticks her tongue out at him. "My goodness, aren't you infuriating! Making ridiculous claims about Ike and then not being able to back them up! I am absolutely appalled by your behavior, Jorge!"

"That's funny, coming from you," he chuckles. "You make ridiculous claims about him all the time!"

"I do not!" she sputters, giving him a hard whack on his arm. "It's not my fault that your uncontrollable jealousy leads you to doubt the truth of my words."

"Jealousy? Well, if you're going to be like that…" He stands up and makes to turn his back on her and head back towards the central area of the camp.

"Where are you going?" she demands. "Don't you dare walk away! We are in the middle of a conversation right now!"

"But you were getting a little too accusatory for my liking, so I thought I'd go over and talk to Jill instead. She's always so kind and considerate, such a joy to be around."

Aimee clenches her fists, looking very much as if she is on the verge of a tantrum. "Excuse me? EXCUSE ME? You would rather be in the presence of that idiotic cow?" She stamps her foot dramatically. "No. No way. I will not permit you to insult me like this. If you take even one step in her direction, I'll make sure you live to regret it."

"Oh, really?" Jorge snickers. "Sounds to me like you're the jealous one, Aimes."

Aimee blanches. "I'm n-not jealous! I was just…" Failing to come up with an explanation, she reaches out to smack him again. "Jorge, you're the biggest jerk I've ever met!"

"But still it seems you would rather I talk to you than 'that idiotic cow'."

"That doesn't mean anything! Stop twisting my words!"

"It's OK, honey. I like you, too."

"STOP IT!" she hisses desperately. "You know how I feel about Ike!"

"Well, in that case you should be perfectly fine with me wanting to spend some quality time getting to know Jill better. Red heads are just so beautiful, you know?"

"You BASTARD!" This time her smack lands right across his cheek. She's practically seething in anger, like a bull preparing to charge. "I… I absolutely hate you."

"Keep telling yourself that," he says sweetly, his spirits lifting at the beauty of her anger. _If we keep this up, I may not even need Soren and Ike to win this bet for me_, he muses serenely as Aimee sputters and curses him violently, all the while making sure he doesn't move a muscle in the direction where Jill can be found. _Maybe she's finally opening her eyes to the fact that there are more options to her future than she gives herself credit for_.

0o0o0o0o0o

The end was in sight for a few fleeting moments. The army's reunion with Queen Elincia and her forces as they attempted to stave off the pursing Begnions had been fortuitous enough on its own, but that Empress Sanaki, easily the most influential person in Tellius even with the Senate besmirching her legitimacy, sought them out and united her forces with theirs heralded that the tide of this war had turned decisively in their favor. All they had to do was return to Begnion and demolish what remained of the Senate's forces and the war would be over. Sanaki would make treaties with the laguz and cede the Serenes back to the herons in penance, and all would be as resolved as possible. The Senate would cease to be a thorn in their side, and the Greil Mercenaries could triumphantly return to Crimea with the safety of their world guaranteed.

It was so perfect—too perfect—that it was inevitable that something would go wrong. So when Soren first learned that Micaiah, the Maiden he had thought well out of the picture at this point, had lured Ike's forces into a decoy battle in order to try and crush and set fire to the Apostle's caravan as it passed through Daein on its way to Begnion, he was hardly surprised. Infuriated, to be sure, especially since her strategy was so brilliant that even he hadn't seen through it, but definitely not surprised. He knew Daein had been bound to stick its nose back into their affairs even in spite of his warning to Micaiah. Peskiness is in their nature, though he did not realize before what atrocities they are capable of. Dumping oil on the Holy Guard and attempting to burn them alive isn't something he would do lightly, no matter how well it achieved his ends in battle. Such things cannot be done without repercussions, and the Maiden had nearly lost Sothe for her decision. The look on her face as Tibarn dropped him from the cliff proved that this loss was perhaps the greatest pain she would ever suffer, so Soren wondered why she would even consider risking it with her brutal decisions.

"Daein cannot surrender," she'd said as she fled back to the protection of her fort. _Cannot_ not _will not._ As if she no longer had a choice in the matter, and her resistance was against her will, though absolutely necessary. Perhaps she had taken Soren's advice and found a reason to fight, albeit not a terribly good one.

Not that it matters what her reason is. As long as she fights Ike, Soren will fight her. And that's that. No mitigating circumstances factor in.

He yawns sleepily and pokes his head out of his tent. Tomorrow they will have to break through Daein's lines one way or another and continue into Begnion, but tonight all is peaceful. Light flakes of snow spiral through the air and stick just barely on the ground, veiling it thinly in a layer of white. If they're lucky, it won't snow any more than this during their temporary stay in Daein and they'll be able to launch their attack without consecutively fighting off a blizzard and knee deep snow. When it's like this, Soren forgets all the many reasons why he hates this place. It's hard to feel the poison seeping through the air when a calm this great dispels it, even though he knows the calm is just an illusion created by the still, silent air of the night and augmented by the noiselessly descending snow.

With a sigh, he sticks his head back into his tent and crawls back into his bedroll. It's not that late in the evening, but Ike had unceremoniously ordered everyone into bed after dinner, insisting that tomorrow's schedule allowed them no time for rest. "We take care of Daein, and then it's straight to Begnion," he'd told commandingly, every inch the general. "If we break once we cross the border, that'll give both Daein and the Senate's army ample time to find us and rout us. If we want to end this as soon as we possibly can, we must give no quarter. Rest will come later."

But rest has been hard for Soren to find of late. His mind is too occupied with thinking to relax, and whenever he tries to empty it or distract it by counting sheep or stars or something else equally dull, it wanders time and time again back to happier thoughts. Back to Ike. He can't help himself, as embarrassed as he is by it. The new-found fire in his veins has overwhelmed him, like a fever, and sent him spiraling off into a state of blissful euphoria. He does what he can to suppress it during the day, but at night it sweeps over him in a flood of ecstasy, and all of the coldness and cynicism in his heart melts away for a moment to give into these new and better emotions, these heavenly feelings of comfort and completion and love that the thought of Ike excites in him.

As he closes his eyes and succumbs to the wondrous sensations, Ranulf's voice floats by from outside his tent. "I'm a bit worried about tomorrow," he is saying, his voice edgy and quiet. "We have ten times the Maiden's power, but I've never seen an attack executed so brutally. And against the Apostle, no less! What can she be thinking?"

"She'll have to either parley with us or face the annihilation of her troops for her foolishness," Ike's voice responds. Soren cracks open an eye. "I'm hoping she will be able to listen to reason, but if she doesn't... I hope whatever she is fighting for is worth her sacrifice."

"Yeah, I guess I'll have to wait for everything to be decided in the morning. I should probably turn in before I stay up all night worrying. How about you? You were the one who issued the 'sleep now or else' edict, so why are you still wandering?"

"There's a last minute thing I need to do."

"Ah. Well, get on that before you break your own rules. I'll see you in the morning."

"See you."

All Soren hears is silence for a moment, and then the soft, barely audible sound of the flaps of his tent being opened. He lifts his head to see Ike checking in, his blue hair flecked white with snow.

"Not asleep yet?" he asks quietly. "Good. I need to ask you about something."

Soren debates getting up, but before he can, Ike joins him on the floor, crossing his legs and settling himself comfortably. Still enveloped in his covers, Soren props himself up to meet his eyes. "Something on your mind, Ike?"

"I need your opinion on something I've been thinking of. It's been nagging at me lately, and I was hoping you might help me resolve it."

"Yes?"

"Well, before this whole business with the Apostle and Daein happened, I had been discussing Rafiel with Reyson and Leanne. We got on the subject of Queen Nailah and Hatari, and all of the things they told me got me to wondering. Do you think there's much more to this world than what we know exists?"

Soren reflects on the question for a moment. "No one's been past the desert of death since the flood. We knew that most of the world had been washed away by the goddess, but it's true that the searches for life were not as extensive as they could have been. There could be places too far or too dangerous to reach, such as Hatari, in existence. It's a possibility."

Ike's face lights up boyishly. "That's what I've been thinking. If there are other lands, I want to find and see them for myself. And even if there aren't, I at least want to see Hatari. From what the herons have told me, they have things better there than we do here. Beorc, laguz, and Branded living in harmony... if only we could strive for such ideals where we are now."

"We have been too prejudiced for too long. Nothing will change overnight."

"Yeah, I get that. This war will change a few things, but it'll be a struggle. All we can do is hope for the best." He bites his lower lip, turning it a deeper shade of red. "But that wasn't the only thing I was thinking of. I've been wondering awhile now what I will do after the war is resolved. I know there will be plenty of mercenary work for us when we get back, but it may be even harder for us than before to stay low key. In all honesty, I don't think I'll be able to do it. I wasn't built for attention. All I ever wanted was to do what my father did. Help the people who need it, take what money they can spare. Simple, uncomplicated jobs."

"And you think our group has grown too notorious to remain on the small scale?"

"Yes. I don't think it's very common for a mercenary company to play pivotal roles in two wars in a row and have their commander be named general twice." Ike winces, as if pained. "What I'm trying to say is that if there is a way to find these places we've never been before, I'm going. And I would like... I would like for you to come with me, if you have no objections."

"Me?" Soren squeaks in surprise. "You want me to come? What about Mist?"

"Mist is growing up. She's already grown attached to Boyd, and it wouldn't be very fair for me to take her away. Besides, I can't really imagine going without you. What would I do with myself?"

"I... I don't know. I would go with you anywhere, but are you really sure you want to be stuck with me? Do you really want to spend those years saddled with a Branded?"

Ike frowns. "Don't talk about yourself that way. I understand that you won't be aging the same way I will, and if that ever gets too hard for you we can always come back and find Stefan's colony. But I still don't see how that will be an issue. There's nothing I'll be doing that you won't be able to do along with me."

"But one day you're going to want a family. It's only natural."

"I have all the family I need already," Ike says firmly, placing a hand on Soren's shoulder. "You don't have to question me, Soren. I told you I was going to figure out what I wanted, and I did. I want to find the world, and I want you to be there when I do."

"But you're going to wake up one morning at forty-five with someone who still looks like a child tailing you."

"I can think of worse fates. As long as it's you, I don't give a damn what you look like. It doesn't define who you are. It never has." Ike's eyes darken. "If you don't want to come, just say so. I... I'd understand it if you had more planned for yourself."

"Don't be an idiot," Soren snaps. "All I want is for you to know what you're getting into."

"I know exactly what I'm getting into. Someone stubborn, cynical, and smarter than almost everyone else in the world. Someone who could be dying of starvation without knowing it, but knows how to keep everyone else from dying in battle. Someone thin and breakable, but strong enough to survive two wars and bring down an enemy in a moment's notice. Someone with a Brand on his forehead, but who is defined not by blood, but by choices and actions taken. Someone who can be bossy and insensitive, but who cares enough to notice when I'm not getting enough sleep or if something is troubling me. Someone who may never grow the way I will, but who will always be years ahead of me in every respect." He smiles and cuffs Soren gently on the chin. "In short, I know just enough to realize that you have your quirks and rough spots, but those things make you who you are. I think I can handle them, if you think you can handle me."

"But there's nothing wrong with you," Soren objects, his face burning.

"Oh, come on. I know you think I'm an idealistic, bull-headed idiot half the time. You can admit it. I won't mind."

"You're fine that way. It can be trying sometimes, but that's just... the way you are."

"Exactly. I feel the same way about you. Like I said, if you can manage my issues, I'll manage yours. So are you coming or not?"

Soren closes his eyes and remembers the vision that he'd at the start of the war of Ike reaching out to him and setting them both on a journey where they could be free. He'd laughed at it once, dismissed it as a dream, but here is Ike extending his hand to seal the bargain, the whole thing happening just as he hoped it would. He knows he doesn't deserve it. Some part of him still exists as the beaten and downtrodden boy his history had made him, the Parentless Branded pariah belonging nowhere and loved by no one. Even Ike, clueless as he is to how deep the bitterness goes, cannot convince him otherwise. All the same, he can't deny himself. He _can't._ He can't permit Ike to leave without him even though he knows it will be better for them both if he stays. He can't hold himself back even though he knows he's not worth this opportunity. Nothing will stop him from taking it now that it has been offered so freely.

Soren slides his hand against Ike's, sealing his future. "Yes. I am coming."

0o0o0o0o0o

On the altar, the medallion burns. It's such a small little thing, but the blue flames rising out of it are vehement, angrily lapping at the air and filling it with a force that consumes each of them. With every moment, it seeps deeper and deeper into their skin, crawling into their thoughts and seducing them with an unchecked wildness that tugs at their darkest desires and unleashes the demons within them. Even though they have been drawn away from the battlefield, they still taste the fever that had overtaken them there with the death and blood and uncertainty surrounding them. The mania has lessened somewhat now that they have set aside their weapons, but it still whispers in the back of their minds, reminding them of how liberating it had been to draw their blades and unleash the wealth of their power on their enemy with no sympathy or hesitation. As the blue flames burned brighter, so had they, and though the feeling had been strange and terrifying, it had at the same time set them free.

Soren doesn't remember feeling this alive ever before. Compared to this, every other moment he's ever experienced has been secondary, inconsequential. The world had been gray before the flames entered into him, saturating everything in vibrant colors and blurring the lines between the possible and impossible. He had once been powerless, alone, and limited, but this new fever that grips him makes anything believable, anything possible. His better judgment sinks somewhere far away, and wild thoughts reign freely in his mind. He wants to do something reckless. Why hold back any longer? This is how life is supposed to be lived, untamed and free rather than restricted and repressed. Why should he hide himself and keep his secrets quiet when the flames so adamantly call him to unlock his heart and expose the chains that have held him back all these miserable years, keeping him from doing what he wants and becoming who he was meant to be?

There is a gash on his lip, a remnant from the unfinished battle. Blood streams from it and into his mouth, pooling around his tongue and leaving a metallic, salty taste. Without thinking, he rakes his teeth across the fresh injury, tearing it open and causing it to explode in pain. For a moment it brings him back to reality. The veil of blissful insanity lifts, and he finds himself standing in front of the altar. Ike is there beside him, hanging on to the limp body of Mist, and Tibarn, Naesala, and Nailah are each tending to a fallen heron. In front of all of them the medallion burns, threatening to overtake Soren once again.

"What's going on?" he murmurs in a daze. His teeth sink into his lip again, and his senses react sharply at this second infusion of clarity.

At his side, Ike drives his nails into the skin of his palm to draw forth tiny pearls of blood, also attempting to pull himself away from the medallion's strange power. "It's going to open," he growls. "Someone get the Apostle. Mist says it needs to be be opened by the galdr rather than by the chaos going on outside."

"What do you mean?" Tibarn barks. "A beorc can't perform galdr. We would need to revive one of the herons, but with those flames burning so brightly, I don't think we can."

"Trust me. There is a galdr only a descendant of Altina can sing, and that's what the Apostle supposedly is."

"And you're sure it's a good idea to be voluntarily waking up the dark god?"

"It's going to wake up anyways. The power streaming out of that medallion is... overwhelming. It's almost already too late."

The blue fire dances higher, and they are lost again to it. Soren's head swims as its force pulls him under. The beautiful wantonness refills him, and he gladly drowns in it, allowing it to travel into every pore of his body. He imagines himself sinking to floor and pulling Ike down with him, diving into each other's bodies with no reason or explanation other than the endless _want_ that crashes inside, the persistent thirst for satisfaction. For a moment it feels as if the medallion is singing these temptations to him, but when he comes to for a moment, he sees that Sanaki has arrived and is humming Mist's familiar tune. It soothes him for a moment and calls him back to a sense of peacefulness, but when she finishes, the flames burn only slightly less passionately than before. The feeling finds him again and grips him tightly.

When Micaiah walks in, he can sense it. Her voice feeds the medallion like kindle on a fire, bringing it to life. As the words she chants in the Ancient Tongue break the seal and unleash the force within, he feels his doubt and hesitation vanishing in the air as the chaos consumes it. The want becomes too great to ignore. He reaches his hand out to Ike like a drowning man grasping for the safety of the shore.

But then, suddenly, balance restores within him. He's back in front of the altar. Micaiah, Sothe, and Sanaki are there, staring at the motionless medallion. Micaiah begins to speak in a strange manner as if she is pretending to be someone else, but Soren pays her no mind. All he sees are their hands. His and Ike's. Each reaching out to the other, compelled by the same inner force. Both of them, and not just Soren, had felt it.

Before they can connect, Micaiah screams "NO, YOU CAN'T!" and a ringing fills the air, shrill and piercing. They clap their hands over their ears as the noise swells to a crescendo. The chaos that had filled them just seconds earlier falls away and dies into nothingness, permitting peace to settle heavily in the air like a curtain. It falls over all of their hearts and rests there snugly as if it had never abandoned them before, but had rather always existed to hold them and keep them safe. Within seconds, every part of the glorious fever is gone.

And then the world goes silent.

0o0o0o0o0o


	13. The Ones We Want and Deserve

**A/N: **This is a very long (and juicy) chapter, so I'll just let you all get on with it. Enjoy!

**13. The Ones We Want and Deserve **(in which a long anticipated question is asked and a much desired answer is given)

The order is nowhere near as potent as the chaos had been, but Soren feels there is still some beauty to find in its abiding temperateness. After such a long war with Begnion, the feeling of peace swarming the world is somewhat of a welcome relief, even though the cost of it is disturbing at best. Now that the staggering passions and the incautious impulses in his heart have been purged by Ashera's judgment, Soren feels himself growing more and more light hearted and untroubled, even in light of the precarious state of his future. He knows this is all due to the new cold and silent world playing games with his senses, but the obsessively neat and structured side of him doesn't mind order's reign over his body. For the first time in a long time, his mind is free and clear of questions, uncertainty, and worry. Ashera has sucked the will to despair and doubt right out of him, and now that the weight of it is off of his heart, he feels unburdened. Like he could close his eyes and ease the tension entirely from his body, floating forever in this slowly streaming river of peace.

They pitch camp in a snowy clearing in the woods, far away from any town or city nearby. They've all made a silent agreement to steer clear of the statues, the frozen remnants of the people whose lives had been interrupted by the judgment. Every one of them, even the bravest among them, is unnerved by the sight of them. They are neither dead nor alive, but they have the horrible potential to fade away completely if the army's mission fails. The fates of these statues are in their hands, but even they may not have the power to stand up to a goddess and save a world with one foot already in the grave.

"Stay on your guard," Ike warns as his soldiers warily begin to set up their things and put together makeshift barriers to protect them. "Ashera's minions can appear at any time. If any of you want to go to sleep right away, take your weapons with you."

"Won't we hear them, if they come?" Boyd grouses. "I'm not really sure it's a good idea to sleep with my axe."

"You don't have to take into bed with you, just set it somewhere nearby," Ike sighs. "And no, we won't be able to hear them until it's too late. Rafiel told me that Leanne's group was surrounded with no warning. The so-called 'Disciples' appeared out of nowhere."

"A whole army can't possibly appear out of nowhere."

"When you're fighting a goddess, anything can happen," Soren retorts drily. "It's inevitable that they will attack us, so we should be prepared for anything. Perhaps a few of us can stay up and keep watch."

Ike nods. "I was planning on it. I'm not in the mood for sleeping tonight, anyways. I get the sense that if I let my guard down, Ashera will finish the job on me the moment I turn my back."

"Soren and I will stay up with you," Titania suggests. "And just to be safe, perhaps everyone should pair up so that our weaker members are protected in case of a surprise attack."

"I'll talk to Ena and make sure she can keep an eye on Kurthnaga," Ike says, turning towards the dragon laguz's tent. "Soren, do you think you can go around the perimeter of the camp and check to see if everything is as secure as possible until I get back?"

"Right."

Soren loops around the tents and watches as Oscar and Gatrie set up sand bags around the area to lessen the chance of any easy, quiet entrance into the camp. It won't slow the possible invaders down very much, but it's a start. At the very least, the bags might provide a tripping hazard in the dark, especially for those whose armor limits their mobility in the first place. Even a single knight toppling over them would cause enough of a racket to wake up nearby soldiers and give them the chance to grab their weapons. It's as much as they can hope for at the time being.

On the other side of the camp he finds Jorge, Mia, Mist, and (surprisingly) Aimee stacking stones into crude barriers. The wall they've built is already long enough to defend against attacks from several different angles, and, most importantly, blocks access to where Kurthnaga is resting. _With any luck_, Soren thinks to himself, _if the Disciples of Order do decide to launch an attack tonight, these precautions will buy us enough time to at least put together a decent attack 's better than I had hoped for, honestly._

"When you're done, could you possibly construct a wall near the front of the camp?" he suggests to the group of temporary masons. "If that's taken care of, we should have all our bases covered for the night."

"Of course!" Aimee answers on behalf of everyone else. "Weren't these barriers a wonderful idea, Soren dear?"

"I suppose. They won't be very durable, but they're a decent attempt given the circumstances."

"Yes, aren't they?" she agrees, grinning broadly. "And it was all my ingenious idea!"

Soren lifts an eyebrow doubtfully, but Jorge comes to her defense. "Believe it or not, she did come up with it," he says with a shrug. "She found the stones and suggested we use them to up our defenses here."

"With all this calm going around, I've been finding it so much easier to think," she says brightly. "It's like every troubling or stupid thougt that has ever bothered me before has gone away."

"Wow! It's a wonder you have anything left to think of at all!" Soren needles her.

"Oh, you!" She waves her hand dismissively and rolls her eyes. "Some support you are. If you don't have anything nice to say, just go back to doing whatever you were doing before you decided to bother us."

"Gladly, Miss Aimee."

He wanders around to complete his circuit of the camp, but before he turns back to the fire, something he sees out of the corner of his eye gives him pause. It's a dark night, and its hard to see much of anything at a distance, but the fact that everything in the area has been frozen but them and the scattered wildlife has made signs of movement relatively easy to catch. He squints into the darkness, keeping his eyes peeled for anything out of the ordinary. Seconds before he is about to give up and pin the whole incident on his imagination, a flash of gold breaks through the night's black haze. A flash of gold and the clank of armor. He blinks his eyes a few times, and when he opens them fully, a whole army materializes in front of him. Lines and lines of brightly clad warriors in every direction he turns.

Soren curses under his breath and runs for Kurthnaga's tent. "Ike! We're under attack!" he gasps out. "They've got us surrounded!"

Ike's jaw drops. "Already? So Leanne wasn't mistaken. They really do come unexpectedly. Did they see you?"

"No, it was too dark. But they did see the camp fire. They know exactly where we are."

"Well, then it seems we're going to have to fight. Ha. So much for the war being over."

"These really aren't the best conditions to be fighting in, but I suppose this is all we can manage."

"We have to manage. If you don't, the world doesn't have a chance." They step out from the tent and Ike pulls Ragnell from its sheath. "There may not be much light to go by, but we've still got the fire and our own two eyes. We'll be fine."

"If you think so."

"I know so," Ike says confidently, now looking a bit excited at the prospect of a new fight. "Let's move out."

0o0o0o0o0o0o

For a moment Soren wonders if they've managed to undo Ashera's spell on the world with their victory. Something had certainly changed during the battle, something reminiscent of how he'd felt after Micaiah sang her galdr and released both Yune and Ashera, temporarily restoring balance before order seized complete control. Exhilaration rushes through him, but it feels more tame and controllable than the medallion's madness. He is his complete self again, with no single part missing or stolen; a being of both order and chaos united.

"I guess the battle spirit counteracts Ashera's judgment," Ike muses long after the last enemy has fallen and everyone else has retreated to bed in exhaustion. "Good. It's nice to know there's a bearable way out."

"A way out?" Soren asks, straightening up the tipped over sandbags and rock barriers. He, of course, wouldn't dream of going to sleep with the camp in a state of disarray. "What do you mean?"

"Like when the medallion lost control," Ike explains. "It's safer to have a way to clear the mind and make it right again, in case it tries to mess too much with what we think and believe in." He casually lifts his thumb and brushes it against the prominent scar on Soren's lip. "I was hoping it wouldn't come back to this."

"Yes," Soren mutters. "Fighting warriors blessed by the goddess herself who materialize in the middle of the night is definitely preferable."

"To having you bite your lip off? I'd say so." Ike leans over and helps Soren adjust a particularly heavy bag. "You don't think they'll come back, do you?"

"They'll undoubtedly be back before we reach Begnion, but they won't be returning tonight. Whoever sent them wasn't expecting them to lose, especially since they carried the blessing of the goddess with them."

"Blessing or not, it's all about the cause you fight for. Ours is the right one, so there's not a chance we'll lose to those puppets. We are the ones with the whole world invested in the outcome of this." He pauses and takes a deep breath. "Anyways, I don't think it will be necessary for us to have a guard tonight if they're not coming back. If you're tired, you should go to bed. I'll clean up here."

"I'm not tired really," Soren admits. "Not after that. You're the one who should get some rest. Back at the fort you were used to getting at least ten hours of sleep. If not more."

"My eye isn't twitching, is it?"

"No. It's fine."

"Then I'm good for a few more hours. As I said, I don't want Ashera to catch me off guard."

"Even she isn't powerful enough for that, Ike."

"Ah, you and your flattery." Ike's lips twitch into a smile, but it is a surprisingly serious one. "But hey, if you're not going to sleep, come back to my tent," he suggests, tugging gently on the sleeve of Soren's robe. "I think there's something I need to talk you about."

"You think? That's strangely indecisive of you."

"What I mean is that I have something to talk to you about, but I really have no idea what you'll say to it, so it may or may not be a good thing to do. But I'm going to go ahead and do it anyways because that's what my gut is telling me to do. It usually leads me in the right direction, so I'll go with it."

"Um..." Soren murmurs nervously. "Well..."

"Don't look like that. It's nothing bad. At least I hope it isn't. I mean I personally think it's good, but you..." He trails off, grimacing darkly. "I sound like an idiot. Come on, can we just go back and talk for a few minutes? I'll try and be quick and to the point, and if you don't want to talk about it anymore we can stop. But I have to get it off my chest, okay? Remember what happened to us the last time we tried to hide things?"

"We came clean in the end."

"After wasting a lot of time being stupid about it. I don't want it to be like that this time. I have something to say now, and I'm going to say it now."

"O-okay. You know I'll listen to whatever you have to say."

"Yes. And I hope you don't regret saying that tonight." Gently, he prods Soren in the direction of his tent at the center of camp.

Once inside, Soren stands awkwardly near the back. There isn't much within the tent but Ike's pack, an untidy pile of clothes, and his hastily unfolded bedroll. There's no place to sit away from the cold, frigid ground but the bed, and this he keeps a reverent distance from. This is the place where Ike sleeps, a mess of sprawling limbs and rumpled hair, and it seems too intimate to even venture closer. Ike's smell lingers sweetly in every fiber, and the fabric faithfully holds the lines of his body as a monument to his peaceful slumber. Soren takes a step back before he can reach out and test the sheets to feel if the warmth of Ike's bare skin still lingers on within them. As clever as he is, there's no way for him to explain such a significant gesture away.

"Sit," Ike commands, collapsing on his bedroll and scooting over to make room for Soren. "You look so stiff."

"I'm fine standing," Soren says quickly. There's so little of the bed left uncovered, if he sits there now he'll practically be on top of Ike. He tries to take another step back, but Ike reaches out and grasps onto his wrist, pulling him down.

"I want to be able to see you," he explains. "And this way it will take you longer to bolt out of here. I may stand half a chance of stopping you."

"So I'm a flight risk now?" Soren tries to keep his voice indifferent, but it's hard to prevent it from wavering slightly with the length of Ike's arm and side pressed against him. He trains himself to sit as still as a statue—a poor sentiment, given the situation of the rest of the world outside—so their contact doesn't deepen and tempt him to do something he'll later regret.

"I don't know," Ike says honestly. "I have no idea what's going on in your mind. I wish I did."

_Oh, no you don't_, Soren thinks wryly to himself. Out loud he says, "I promise to stay where I am, all right?"

"All right. I'll hold you to that."

"Fair enough."

"Right."

Ike sighs deeply and runs his hand absently through his hair. "Where to begin with this? You see… well… I don't know whether you've noticed or not, but this whole order thing with Ashera has made it easier to think. It's as if the world is trying to tell me that everything is OK and there's nothing left to worry about. Whenever I try to remind myself of how horrible the state of the world is right not now, it just vanishes away before I can get a grasp at it. It's left me to think of a lot of the things I had been putting aside until later." He pauses, waiting for Soren to say something.

"Yes. I've felt the same way," Soren obliges.

"At first I tried to remember how I met you like I promised I would, but it wasn't coming to me. It's like everything from that time in my life has been erased. I can't recall living in Gallia or my mother's death no matter how hard I try. I just remember Dad taking us to Crimea and settling down there. Whatever is blocking my mind keeps me from seeing more."

"I told you it wasn't important," Soren mutters.

"You'd tell me anything if you thought it was for my own good. Because of that, I know you don't always tell me the truth." He toys with the edge of his cloak. "But I don't want to talk about that right now. When I couldn't make any inroads with thinking of that, I decided to try and figure out the other thing I have been wondering about. About what has changed about you."

Soren feels his heart stop beating. _No. Not this. _In a panic, he begs the ground to swallow him and keep him protected, but the world remains silent and orderly. No wonder Ike thought he would run. How can he sit here calmly with Ike's weighing eyes upon him, regarding him as if he knows exactly why Soren's heart is acting up and sending his blood rushing to his pale face in a vivid bloom?

"Soren?" Ike says softly. "Don't be afraid. I'm not going to hurt you. Just listen to what I have to say."

Soren exhales deeply and closes his eyes. Within a moment, the serenity of Ashera's world settles over him again and whispers promises in his ears. _Everything is fine. All is as it ought to be. Give into the peace, the stability that surrounds you. I will not let you fall_. Every word an illusion, but they are comforting lies all the same.

He opens his eyes and nods.

"All right," Ike says carefully. "As I told you once, I've always known that you've kept a watchful eye on me for as long as we've known each other. You've kept me alive and safe more times than I can count. But I also knew that you did it out of gratitude, because I had taken you in. You looked up to me the way I looked up to my father, but it never went deeper than that. You didn't want any more from me than what I had already given."

"Because you don't own me anything," Soren grumbles self consciously.

"This isn't about your idiotic self sacrificial streak. I'm talking about what you _want_. What you actually want from me rather than what you think I want from you."

"They're the same thing."

"No. They're not. You're human, Soren. You have a heart. And I know from experience that it's impossible for anyone to change the way you naturally feel inside. Not even me." Ike sighs and shakes him slightly on the shoulder. "Don't change the subject. I've known for awhile now that something has changed in the way you think of me. We're too close in age for you to have thought of me as a father for very long, but the bond that ties us goes somewhere beyond friendship. Boyd, Ranulf, and Oscar are all my friends, but none of them are what you are to me. What we feel goes deeper than that."

_What _we _feel_? Soren's heart surges hopefully. 'We' is such a promising word, filled with such wonderful prospects of mutuality. Perhaps Ike didn't mean it that way, but it's still a pleasant thing to hear.

"I don't want to presume anything about you," Ike says slowly. "You close yourself so tightly that it takes a considerable effort to pry you open. And even when you let me, you shut back down so quickly that all I see is the slightest glimpse of what's there. Most times you show yourself in other ways. The tone of your voice, the things you say, the things you don't say, the look in your eyes that you get sometimes. Recently I've been trying to piece it all together. I... I still don't understand it completely. I only see what you let me see."

"I-"

"No." Ike places his hand over Soren's mouth for a moment. "Let me finish. All I have to go by other than what you give me to work with is what I know from my own experience. And I don't know much, honestly, except what I've been feeling myself. And maybe it's just me being selfish or vain or whatever it is, but I think I finally understand what you've been trying to hide from me. Because I know exactly what it feels like to hide it, too."

_In that case, he's guessed wrong, _Soren thinks a bit sadly. _Unless he mean he's been hiding his love for someone else... _He looks down at the ground, trying to suppress his bitterness. He hadn't even actually wanted Ike to find out his secret, but maybe a tiny little part of him had wondered what it would feel like to have it out in the open. If it would be a relief or just make everything worse.

"Soren, please look at me," Ike instructs him gently. "I can't go without knowing the answer for any longer. Please."

Soren turns his head just barely, meeting Ike's strangely pleading eyes. "I c-can't answer without a question," he says shakily, his voice so quiet that even he can barely hear it.

"The question is," Ike says simply, "do you love me?"

_Oh._

Every instinct in Soren's body screams at him to run. He's not ready or brave enough to face up to this, his most treasured and dangerous secret. What will happen if he confesses to it? A polite and sympathetic dismissal? Disgust? Annoyance? Anger? Every route leads to something he's not strong enough to face. It wouldn't be like the wounds he received at the hands of the woman who adopted him or the sage who'd trained him or even the beorc and laguz he'd passed in Gallia. A wound inflicted by an enemy is nothing but a momentary bother compared to one inflicted by a friend, in his eyes. Those who strike with hatred attack with more ferocity, but they do not puncture as deeply. The marks they leave scar the surface, and when they go deeper, they are not meant to mar the heart forever. Time and love unravel the bandaging and reveal the damaged skin to be untarnished and pure, looking much as it always had before the injury. But if Ike, his dearest and most beloved friend, hurts him now, there will be no balm or healing. It will be the scar to reopen all the others, the one to bleed him out completely.

As he searches frantically for an answer, a distant memory strikes him out of nowhere. In his mind he sees Ike standing in front of him the moment before he confessed his Branded heritage, a very similar look of frustration and disappointment clouding his face._ Do you know what I think? I think you want to tell me_, he'd said, daring Soren to prove him wrong. _I think a part of you knows that whatever you say won't matter in the end, because you're my friend and it goes against everything I feel and believe in to turn my back on you._

And maybe Ike had been right. Everything Soren ever says he listens to fairly, and never once has he betrayed Soren in the process. Not for being Branded. Not for making Princess Elincia cry. Not for attacking his laguz friends or insulting his ideologies or being generally harsh, cold, or insensitive. Why would this be any different? Why should Soren fear getting hurt if Ike always makes it clear that hurting Soren is the last thing he wants to do?

Another memory pops into his head, a more recent one. When they had talked in front of the fire at the start of the war, Ike had picked up on something that Soren had been surprised he'd noticed. _Maybe it's yourself you don't trust, _was what he had said. _I always thought it was something I was doing wrong that was holding you back, but I think now that it's something else. Something else you're afraid of._

Yes, that's it. He's not hesitating right now because of Ike. Ike won't hate him or turn his back no matter what he says. Even if he has to let Soren down, Ike will do it so gently that it won't hurt more than a moment. As always, Soren's held back because of himself. Because his mind tells him he's dirty and unworthy and too much a coward to take a risk and give into his wants, no matter what the reward of doing so may be.

"You're so afraid," Ike murmurs, his voice breaking into Soren's thoughts. "I don't know if it's of saying yes or no, but you don't have to be. I just need to know, you understand? It matters to both of us."

He can't run from Ike, he can't refuse him the knowledge he wants, he can't lie to the man he loves, not like he lies to himself. The only thing he can do is trust. Trust in Ike and trust in himself. This is the truest thing he's ever felt, this love. It belongs to him for a reason. He may be Branded and a miserable product of his past, but Ike is right. He is human. He loves. He wants. He believes, no matter how foolishly, in this one good emotion that exists within him. If he can't own up to it, what good is he? What is the point of living? What is the sense of wanting happiness if he never allows himself to be happy? What, if not this moment, is he waiting for?

He closes his eyes, ordering his fear to fall away from him. To fall into the peace and calm and allow it to set him free just as the chaos had. After a moment or two, his heart burning only with the desire to know what will happen next now that this moment has finally come, he nods.

He doesn't open his eyes again, so he doesn't see the look that settles over Ike's, but he does, however, feel the hand that comes up to cup his cheek gently, just like it had once before. Once again, his entire body is seized with the pleasure of it. The soft and electrifying sensation of the touch of someone well loved. The warmth, the promise, the comfort of someone who is a home, a safe haven, a friend. _Ike._

"All those years ago," Ike says in a raw voice, "when you were hiding your background from me, I was so angry with you. I knew you had your reasons to keep something a secret, but I knew that you had shared it with other people before me. First Stefan. You tried to keep me from guessing, but I knew it the moment I saw you with him. There was guilt in your eyes, and he seemed so condescending to me, as if he knew something I didn't. And then it was Nasir. I know now that he figured it out without your help, but when he first told me he knew, I never felt so hurt. How could you trust them and not me, I wondered. I… I wanted to be the one you always turned to, and I was so afraid you were growing up and growing away from me. I just didn't want to lose you."

"But I— "

"Wait. I have more to say. I know how agonizing it was for you to tell what you did about your being Branded. You've faced so much cruelty because of it. But what really surprised me was that you'd thought you would receive the same from me. I know that such a terrible past is difficult to erase, but I had thought I had proved to you how important you were to my life. And when you were done telling me everything, I thought…"

He trails off, smoothing the pads of his fingers over Soren's eyelids so they come fluttering open slowly. He regards him solemnly, his expression firm and unsmiling, but his eyes are touched by a tenderness so great that Soren cannot pretend they mean something other than the true emotion they are expressing. His breath catches.

"What did you think?" he finds himself asking, everything in him burning for the answer.

"I thought 'How could he have believed that I would ever be disgusted by him? I love him. I love him too much to turn my back for something as small as this'." A grin suddenly breaks across Ike's face. "And then do you know what I thought after that?"

Through his shock, Soren can barely manage to choke out, "Tell me."

"I thought that you would never return the sentiment because I wasn't strong enough to make you come to terms with your past. I thought you deserved better."

"WHAT?" Soren sputters indignantly. "Are you the biggest idiot on the planet?"

Ike laughs. "No. That's probably still Boyd."

"But you've done more for me than anyone! How could you possibly think it that wasn't enough?"

"Maybe for the same reason you never thought to tell me how you felt about me up until now?"

"But you actually do deserve better."

"Do I really? What makes me so special?"

"You saved Crimea… and you're going to save us again now. I know you will."

"And could I really have saved Crimea without you, hmm? And just tonight you kept us from being ambushed as we set up camp. I may be credited as the hero, but would I really be one without you by my side? I wonder sometimes."

"But you're the one who convinced me to help you. If not for you, I would have gladly seen the laguz massacred. The beorc, too. Nothing mattered to me, before you."

"And there you have it. We're on equal ground. You need me and I need you. You may think I deserve better and I may think you deserve better, but in the end, what we deserve is what we want. And the one I want and deserve is right here. You. Do you believe me when I say that?"

Soren takes a deep breath and places his hand against the hand already pressed against his face and laces his fingers together with it. He feels bold doing this, though he knows he has leave to do it as much he likes now. The old rules of distance are too enforced in his head to give up so quickly. He's refrained from initiating this sort of contact for so long that he's almost surprised that the world doesn't simply fall to pieces when he breaks the restrictive boundary he's been abiding by for all these years.

"Of course I believe you," he answers softly. "I always have."

"Glad to hear it," Ike responds, a complacent smile touching his features. "And now that all that has been settled— finally— I have one thing left to ask you."

"Yes?"

"That cut on your lip… does it still hurt you?"

"Hmm? A little bit, I guess. What does that matter?"

Ike sighs regretfully. "I'm not going to be the one to make it worse."

"What? Wait…" It dawns on him slowly. "You were going to…?"

"Well, yeah. You don't spend all those years in love with someone without building up a pretty strong urge for it. At least that was my experience."

"And you won't now? Because of the scar?"

"If it still hurts, it's not done healing. I saw how awful that cut was when you first opened it, and I'm not planning on making you suffer that again."

Soren wonders to himself whether or not this is a tactic on Ike's part. His concern seems genuine, but perhaps he's knowledgeable of the universal truth that denying someone something is a surefire way to make them want it more than they had ever wanted it before. If it is a strategy, it's certainly a very effective one. Damn him for becoming so smart… possibly.

Their faces are only inches apart, a distance easily crossed by a single movement. It's so close that he can almost taste it, the soft touch of Ike's lips that he's only imagined with all the limitations of inexperience. If hearing Ike confess his feelings had felt so much better than he had ever managed to dream it, wouldn't this follow the same principle? The thought of it is so intoxicating that he feels something akin to recklessness creeping into his veins. But it's not chaos like the medallion's chaos, something forced upon him by an outside power. This is of his creation, built from his own desires. This is what he wants in his own mind and heart, without any other outside influence suggesting oterwise.

"Ike?" he hears his voice saying, strangely foreign in its throaty huskiness. "May I ask you something?"

"I suppose you've earned the right to a few questions after all I've made you answer tonight."

"Almost everything I've ever done in my life has been to make you happy," Soren tells him honestly. "If I wanted to do something just for me… for my own happiness… do you think that would be OK?"

"Um, isn't that what I've been trying to get you to do ever since I've met you?"

Soren nods. "All right, then. One last thing. Do you think you could close your eyes?"

Ike's eyes widen instead. "Close my eyes? Are you..." Suddenly his confused frown transforms into a knowing smile. "Aha. I see. Well, don't say I didn't try to be self sacrificing for once. And if that cut reopens..." He pulls a grimace.

"Let's just hope it doesn't," Soren responds, already closing his eyes. He's never been told before how this works or what he is supposed to do to make it special; he only knows what his body wants him to do, and even that instruction is uncertain at best. Following his natural instincts, he loops his arms around Ike's neck and allows himself to be pulled closer by the two hands that find his slender waist and settle against it. He traces his fingers gently around the shape of his lips like a blind man getting a sense of their shape and feel, and when Ike presses them against his fingertips, he knows that this is exactly what he has been waiting for. Any doubt he might have felt seeps completely from him, and the chaotic beauty of his love overcomes him, making him both brave and strong enough to accept the elusive happiness he has been chasing but never permitting himself to catch.

The kiss is slow at first, a sign of the newness of this experience for both of them. Ike, still nobly doing his best not to hurt Soren, dances carefully around the scar, and Soren, nervous of making a misstep, applies only slight pressure in his over-caution. But after a few moments, this is not enough for either of them. All the years they've held back and waited have made them too hungry to be satisfied with only a small bite of sustenance. Abandoning all guardedness, they push themselves and each other further, taking the whole feast of pleasure rather than the mere taste.

With a ravenous insistence, Ike pulls Soren into his lap and runs his fingers through his long hair, pulling out the ties that keep it back so it falls around his shoulders in all its glory. His hands travel to the small of his back, urging him closer and giving him permission to deepen his movements to his heart's desire. Soren takes advantage of this momentary distraction on Ike's part to to slide the rest of his mouth under Ike's, scar included. It burns at the contact, but not unpleasantly. Nothing Ike can do can hurt him, not anymore. Not after this.

Ike is the first to pull away, but he does so slowly as if he can't bear to stop. There's a strangely quizzical expression on his face, as if he hadn't expected any of it to be as powerful and awakening as it had been. "Did you feel that?" he murmurs, keeping his face close to Soren's and continually running his fingers through his undone hair. "Unbelievable."

"I'm not expert, but I thought feeling it was the entire point," Soren remarks, a bit alarmed at Ike's surprise.

"That's not what I meant," Ike laughs breathlessly. "I meant... you remember when the medallion was overflowing with chaos before Micaiah released Yune? I felt something in my mind when that happened, as if the flames were altering my flow of thought. It was telling me then that I should give into what I felt for you without waiting around any longer. I wanted to confess everything right then and there, right in front of everyone. I wanted to give you everything. The compulsion was so strong that I could barely suppress it. I thought it was the medallion that made me feel that way, but I just felt it again when you kissed me. But with Ashera's hold on the world, how is that possible?"

"Chaos doesn't just come from medallions or dark gods, Ike. You noticed that the battle spirit brought it back, and maybe we've just found another way."

"Hmm. A way better than having you gnaw off your lip _and_ better than fighting fanatics in the middle of the night. I could get used to this."

"I won't get too comfortable. Ashera's still planning to make us the next statues in her collection, no matter what happens between us."

"Of course. I remember. But what better way to bring her down than to infuse her perfect little world with a bit of good-natured chaos? I mean, it will require all this _hard _and _difficult _work from us, but for the sake of the war effort I just might be convinced to try it some more. It if the idea doesn't sound too painfully exhausting to you, that is."

"I think I can just about manage," Soren says with a smile just before Ike pulls him in again for another beautiful, chaotic, and rebellious kiss.

0o0o0o0o0o0o

**A/N: **:D This, ladies and gentlemen (if I have a male fan base?), is why I love to write. If a game/movie/book denies you the romantic scene you want, you can make it happen on your own. Such power...

Anyways, a largely Aimee and Jorge chapter is up next. Will they learn the fate of their bet or not? Will it even matter, in the end? Stay tuned!


	14. The Ones We Fight For

**A/N: **I would like to dedicate this chapter to my long time friend Alice who has been dying for this ever since I told her my idea for this story. Alice, I cannot wait to receive your phone-comment and have your fan girl squeals pierce my poor little ear drums. I'm sure Jorge would be honored to hear how much you absolutely "lurvvvve" him.

And for all of other Jorge (and Aimee) fans out there, enjoy!

**14. The Ones We Fight For** (in which Jorge is a gallant champion and Aimee stops running)

There's a woman sitting at the banks of the river, washing herself with a small white cake of soap. Nude but for the long brown hair that races down her back and comes to a slow stop below her waist, her alabaster skin glows radiantly in the morning light, sparkling with translucent drops of water. Her back is turned, but her head is tilted just slightly to the side, her eyes peering cautiously over her exposed shoulder as if she knows of the presence lurking in the bushes with his paper and pencils, his palette of colors that will immortalize her, make her real. As if she can feel the eyes on her back, intent on making a mockery of her solitude.

It's a beautiful picture, or at least Aimee would have thought so many years ago, when she was a child. The artist is not without talent, and the classical style of the image seduces the senses, giving the woman an ethereal, goddess-like beauty. It is meant to draw the eye and hold it, to give pleasure to those who see it. And how can it fail to please? The woman it depicts was born for such. A gift of beauty and sensuality for the rest of the world to enjoy.

Aimee runs her fingers across the surface of the canvas, feeling nothing but disgust. She knows too much to fall for its tricks. She knows exactly the sort of man who would paint this picture or add it to his collection. She knows the kind of man who would live in a house like this one, an ornate palace drenched in velvet, gold, tapestries, portraits, and diamond chandeliers. A man just like _him_.

The resemblance is uncanny. This very well may have been the same room she'd stayed in once upon a time. She very well may have become the woman in the portrait if only she had been trapped for longer than she was. It feels so horrifyingly familiar that she wonders for a moment if she's woken up from a long and beautiful dream about running away and becoming a merchant on a traveling caravan and has returned to her old life, her reality. Maybe any minute one of Prideri's servants will come through the door and tell her that she is wanted in the master's room. And maybe this time the job will be completed as it had been intended, this time without any hope of escape.

When she hears the turn of the doorknob her heart plummets, but it is only Jorge returning to the safety of the room.

"The battle is still going strong," he reports. "Apparently that Duke of Tanas character from the last war is back in bu-" He falls silent as he takes in Aimee as she stares at the portrait of the bathing woman with a look filled with nausea and fear. He crosses the room so he is standing at her side, also looking up at the striking image. "Wow," he murmurs. "Isn't that something."

"It's filth," she retorts. "Disgusting."

"What makes you say that?"

"Did anyone ask her if she wanted to be spied on like that? Or if she really, truly wanted to be painted at a vulnerable moment? I doubt it. Men always think a woman like this belongs to them because a chance of fate happened to make her beautiful. They think it gives them leave to do this to her. To expose her as if her body doesn't belong to her, but to anyone who wants to see it."

"But there are women out there who wouldn't object to posing like this. Not everyone in the world sees anything wrong with being taken advantage of."

She nods, having known many of these women herself. "This girl isn't like that," she tells him, her hands reaching up to touch her painted cheek. "See the look in her eyes? That doesn't belong to someone who wants to be seen in this way. You can just tell that she didn't ask to be translated into art for the world's enjoyment. She just wanted to bathe." Aimee sighs and jerks her hand away from the canvas. "You're a man, and that's who it was clearly made for. What do you think of it?"

"The portrait? Nothing, really. The style is well done, and the colors are lifelike. And as you've already figured out for yourself, it tells a story, though perhaps not a happy one. I've seen worse already in this house." He pauses, giving it one last study. "But I agree with what you said. Men are too quick to assume that women should be flattered by the attention we give them. We ought to feel lucky when we earn the love of a woman, instead of feeling entitled to it."

"You believe that?"

"Yes," he says patiently. "I'm not heartless, you know."

"Oh, I didn't mean to suggest you were. It's just that being here... it's making my outlook on things bleak. I am sorry if I offend you."

"You didn't. But are you sure you're all right? If you'd like a rest, I could wake you up when the mercenaries are finished outside."

Aimee eyes the lush canopy bed with distaste. "I have no intention of sleeping here. I'd rather be outside in the rain."

"Ah, yes. The splendors of Begnion never did mix well with you. Maybe if the weather lets up in a few hours, we can ask Ike's permission to set up a tent for us outside."

"You don't have to feel obligated to join me. Even if the rain does stop, it's going to be soggy out there. Don't give up your nice warm room on my behalf."

"As if I would leave you out there on your own with maniac disciples popping out of thin air. Besides, Muston ordered me to keep you out of trouble before we left. You can't ask me to go against the boss's orders."

A smile momentarily reappears on her face. "Ooh, you're my gallant protector for this mission? I had no idea!In that case, you are more than welcome to join me. After all, I heard Boyd telling Rolf that there are bears in this area. Maybe you'll end up wrestling one in my honor!"

"Hey, if I ever saw a bear, I'd call for Kieran. They're his area of expertise."

"But Kieran's not my champion. How could you ever consider backing out of the duty of protecting your lady? Jorge, I'm ashamed of you!"

"So you're my lady now, huh?" he asks in surprise. "I'd never thought I'd hear you admit to that."

"Don't get too confident. I don't know if I can tolerate a knight who won't even wrestle a bear for me. I may have to fire you and hire someone new."

"Ike?"

"Actually, I was thinking Kieran. There's something to be said for a man who won't shy away from killer animals."

Jorge bursts out laughing. "Nice one. He'd make a fair guard up until the point he impales himself in the head while protecting you. But I guess I'll have to do for now."

"I suppose you will." She falls silent for a moment, noticing that the background sounds of clashing steel and shouting have abated. "Sounds like they're done out there. Should we go check?"

"We should err on the side of caution. Ike told me he would send someone to fetch us once the building is secure."

"And the man who owns this monstrosity of a house will disposed of?"

"I'd imagine so. He is a bit lucky that Tibarn isn't with this group, on the other hand. The hawk king would probably personally hunt him down for what he did to Reyson, and it wouldn't be painless way to go."

"I had forgotten that this duke had a hand in that. Despicable, just as I thought. I knew from looking at this room that he would be the sort to feel entitled to anything he wants. Just like-" She stops herself, the name sticking to her tongue. She can't say it. She erased him all those years ago, and she doesn't want to let him out in the open and give him the freedom to become real again.

"You sound as if you've had a bad experience with another man like the duke," Jorge notes, though not expecting her to elaborate further. "If that's the case, I'm sorry. But you can't anticipate every man you meet to be like him."

"I don't," she objects, forgetting to deny his accusation. "If I did, I would have never trusted you, Daniel, or Muston when I found you. But I saw the kindness in your eyes and knew I shouldn't be afraid."

"I'm glad we've proven worthy of your trust, if nothing else."

"You've done more than that. You took me in and provided me with a home without reason to. It's something I'll never forget for as long as I live."

A corner of his mouth tilts upwards into a half-smile. "And here you are, just as troublesome as the day we found you. But believe it or not, I'd make the same decision again. I don't think life would be half as interesting without you in it."

He reaches out slowly to take her hand, but before he can cross the distance between them, a knock comes from the door. "It's me, can I come in?" Ike's voice asks through it, and both of them leap apart, startled by the interruption they should have been expecting.

Jorge opens the door and Ike strides through with the most repulsive looking man Aimee has ever seen in tow. Greasy, bald, and grotesquely fat, with a twitchy little mustache underneath his ballooning nose. _No wonder people like my mother and I end up on the streets, _she thinks to herself, resisting the urge the cover her nose and run out of the room. _He probably eats enough for a family of four and leaves everyone else to starve. What could he possibly be doing with Ike?_

"Aimee, I know you left your stock out in the caravan," Ike says, glancing warily at the fat man, "but I was wondering if you could possibly hold on to an item for us. As you can see, we've picked up a bit of an unwelcome guest, and I don't feel comfortable leaving him armed until he's proven his loyalties. If you could look after his tome until I ask for it back, it would be much appreciated. Soren told me that it's expensive, and I don't want it to go to waste."

"I suppose I could give it up as long as this angel of beauty is the one to be its guardian," the man says, eying Aimee appreciatively. "What's your name, my darling? I am Oliver, duke of Tanas. Always a pleasure to meet a face as handsome as yours."

"You let him live?" Jorge asks in amazement. "Are you sure that's a good idea?"

"I know, I know," Ike sighs. "It's against my better judgment. He wants to protect the herons, and according to Rafiel, there's no ill intent in his soul. And if he tries anything, I have no doubts that Nailah will happily finish him off for us."

"Such folly to think I would harm a single hair on that glorious creature's head!" Oliver groans, his expression rapturous. "I would sooner cut out my heart!"

Ike shakes his head in bewilderment. "Would you, please? I doubt anyone would really mind."

"Ah, such ugly words from such a becoming man. You would be all the more lovely if you permitted your speech to match the poetic majesty of your looks."

"Just hand the tome over to Aimee," Ike snaps, looking earnestly sick. "I have better things to be doing right now."

"Very well, o noble commander." He picks up the book and passes it into Aimee's care. As she receives it in her hands, he take hold of one, fitting his slimy palm against hers.

"Such a flawless specimen," he muses as Aimee freezes in horror. "Wide eyes, full bodied hair, exquisite mouth, red as an apple. If I were an artist, I would feature you in many a picture. Such youthful and lively beauty should not be resigned to obscurity, but should live on for everyone to see and admire. Perhaps I may have the honor of commissioning a painting of you one day."

"N-no," she murmurs, trying to push him off of her. But it's too late. His words fill her ears, drawing her back to a time and place she had never wanted to visit again under any circumstances.

0o0o0o0o0o0o

She feels his hands against her. Not greasy like Oliver's, but smoothed by frequent care and smelling faintly of freesia perfume. He tugs at the neckline of her dress, pulling it lower. "No need for modesty, my rose, you're a woman now_,"_ he said, pressing his fingers underneath her chin to raise it. "There, there. Pretty enough for a picture. Beautiful."

"Why do you make these portraits?" she wondered, blushing at his praise. "You have no room on your walls for any more, and I can't think of anyone who would wish to purchase a drawing of little old me."

"Such darling humility." He laughed in his loud and barking way. "I doubt your innocent ears would care to hear the real reason, so I will give you one that is also somewhat true. It is because of time, my sweet Aimee. He has his eye on you, and though you are young and beautiful now, one day it will fade. You will grow old, as will I. But even after years and years have passed, I can look at these pictures and remember you as my rose, my beauty. You will live on in my mind as an unblemished goddess even though you will exist somewhere else withered and gray and past your prime. One must take beauty where it can be found and let it linger on for as long as it can."

"But sir, my mother is an older woman and I still think her quite lovely. If I take after her, I do not think I will turn into a crone so soon."

"Ah, I suppose your mother wa— is— fine enough to look at. But you view her in the terms of your affection. She is your mother, and your love for her makes her grander than she is. You do not notice that her hips have grown wide or that her skin carries wrinkles. Unlike you, she is neither nubile nor fresh. Her time has passed... figuratively, of course."

"You speak like an expert on the matter."

"I know a beautiful woman when I see one," he said humbly. "And I see one sitting right before me. One day I will show you just how lovely you really are, and then you will see." He set down his brush for a moment and grinned wolfishly at her. "A shame you were nearly wasted away living on the streets. How fortunate for both of us that I was able to save you and protect you from further damage."

"Yes. I am glad to be safe again."

"I'll keep you from harm always, my rose," he told her, though even then, young and naïve as she was, she felt doubt in the back of her mind as to whether or not he would protect her only for as long as she was young and handsome, and then leave her to fend for herself, old, used up, and alone.

0o0o0o0o0o0o

She comes back to herself just in time to see Jorge's hands connecting with Oliver's shoulders, sending him stumbling back into the wall. "What the hell are you doing?" he yells in a voice she had no idea he was capable of. "Don't you see how scared she is? Stay away from her!" He pulls her against him as her muscles slacken and her knees buckle out from underneath her. "Ike, get him out of here."

"Will she be all right?" Ike asks in a panic, reaching out to check her pulse. "What just happened to her?"

"She won't talk about it, but I think he reminds her of someone she used to know. The best thing you can do for her is get him away as soon as possible."

"All right. You look out for her, Jorge. If you need any food or drink to give her, let me know." He turns to Oliver, who is still smarting from Jorge's assault. "Come on, you fat mass of ugly. You've traumatized enough of my company for one evening, I think."

After a few minutes, Aimee whispers into Jorge's shirt, "Is he gone?"

"Yeah, Ike got him out. Do you think you'll be all right? We should move you to the bed."

"N-no, not there. Please. I'll stand. Anywhere but there."

"Aimee, you're not fit to stand right now. You've had a shock."

A low sob escapes from the back of her throat. "I didn't mean for that to happen," she moans. "I'm so sorry."

"Why are you apologizing to me? That wasn't your fault. Here." He scoops up her legs and lifts her all the way into his arms. "I'll hold onto you until you can catch your breath."

"Thank you." She rests her head against his shoulder. "Oh, I'm horribly embarrassed. For you to see that..."

"Stop worrying about it, for goodness sake! I saw the terror in your eyes when he touched you. You had every right to behave as you did."

"I wanted to be strong. I wanted to forget about everything, but I can't now. It all felt so real. It was like I was back in Daein again."

"Daein? Where we found you?"

She nods. "I lived there for a time. With my mother. She died of the plague, but I wasn't there with her when she passed. I was..." A few tears slide down her cheeks and she wipes them away with the back of her hand.

"Aimee, you don't have to say anything if you don't want to. I understand."

"No. No, I have to say this. You were the one who told me to figure out what I wanted, and what I want is to tell somebody. All this time I've been running away, but I knew it would catch up to me someday. If I don't confront it now, I'll spend the rest of my life hiding from it and being caught again and again. I don't want to do it anymore. It has to end now."

"Then I will listen to whatever you want me to hear." He looks around for a place to sit, but there's nothing but the bed and the floor. Her earlier reactions to it eliminate the bed as an option— he now has a sinking feeling as to what makes her so opposed to it— so he slowly lowers her to floor so she can be comfortable when she speaks to him.

"Where are you going?" she demands when he backs off to give her some space.

"I thought that maybe you wouldn't want me to be so close, considering."

"I told you that I trust you. All these years I've known you, you've never done a single thing to hurt me. Why would you do it now?" She pulls him back and links her elbow against his.

"Aimee, you don't have to feel obligated just because—"

"I don't. Now are you going to let me talk, or not?" The traces of her tears are gone, leaving behind the willful, stubborn Aimee he knows and loves so well. He'd get nowhere trying to coddle her; even at her most vulnerable, she is far from fragile underneath it all.

After collecting herself, Aimee begins to speak. The words, so long bottled up, spill forth readily as if they have been waiting all these years for the chance to be set free. She tells of her mother, of the inescapable plague, the streets of Daein, the house where Prideri had kept her. _Prideri_. The name falls like bile from her tongue, but she is glad to be rid of it. She has worn it like a chain around her neck, a proper punishment for her foolish actions, but now is the time to break it and let it go. She wasn't the one who had made him trick her or throw her into bed and attempt to take what wasn't within his rights, she realizes. He may have pinned it on her and her irresistible beauty, but in the end he had been the one to make the choice. A choice between respecting her and taking only for himself. He had chosen the latter, and it was his fault not hers. He was the one who deserved punishment, who needed to seek forgiveness for his weakness. Why had it taken so long for her to realize that? Why had she been in such a hurry to blame herself when she had done nothing but trust in someone who had repaid her in betrayal?

As she muses over this issue, Jorge leaps to his feet, his fists clenched tightly. "We're lucky we're not in Daein right now," he snarls, his face red with anger. "If we were, I'd hunt him down and kill him. Damn the consequences. Anyone who would dare do that to someone so young and in so much pain doesn't deserve to live."

"I may have done it myself," she admits sadly. "I never checked to see if he was all right after I brought the vase down on him. I might have done it. I just don't know."

"If you did, I only regret that I didn't do it myself first."

"Thank you, but you shouldn't say things like that. His death won't change what happened. I have to learn to live with it, no matter how angry the thought of him makes me."

Jorge stops pacing and looks down at her. "You're right. But the thought of him hurting you like that, right after you found out about your mother..."

"Yes. I was just like the girl in that picture. I didn't ask for it to happen, but we don't always get what we want in life. I was lucky that it ended how it did, considering what could have happened. And besides, I found you. You, Muston, and Daniel. Can you really say it ended unhappily?"

"Was it worth the price you had to pay?"

"If he hadn't taken me in, I would have gotten the plague and died alongside my mother. I may have almost been taken advantage of, and I may have become a bit ridiculous and made a few thoughtless decisions since then, but at least I'm still alive. It's what my mother would have wanted for me. So yes, it was worth the suffering. It was what led me here."

Jorge's frown lessens somewhat. "And made you wiser, I see. I guess I can't begrudge you that."

"Good. I really had no intention of letting you." She comes to her feet and stands up beside him. "Now that we're done philosophizing, we'd better get down to business. No point in dancing around the subject after all of this."

"Hmm? What business? What subject are we dancing around?"

A familiar smile lights up her face, practically dripping with sweetness. "Well, before we go out and you become my champion and wrestle a few bears on the side, there is a matter we should discuss. It has come to my attention recently that you perhaps harbor special feelings for me, feelings of a more than brotherly nature. Not that you are the only man to feel such, of course. I am, after all, the most sought after woman in this camp."

"And don't forget the vainest," he says, gladly falling into the old routine now that the new undertones are so very clear. Neither of them are the same as they had been when they'd first engaged in such banter. Both have matured and figured themselves and each other out, weaving through the difficult emotions and horrifying memories to arrive at this. They hadn't been ready all those years ago, or even an hour ago before the truth had come to light. Now that there are no secrets, fear, or insecurities between them, it is finally time.

"I can't help but feel a bit sorry for you, my poor champion," Aimee says. "It must be so hard to love me with all those other men to compete with. You have suffered much on my behalf, but you have borne it well. For that, I commend you."

"For a woman so good and kind, I would have gladly suffered more. And how do you respond to these feelings of mine, my lady?"

"Well... you are not the perfect man by any means. You can be very forward sometimes, and it would be a bit more attractive of you if you had a blade to protect me with, not to mention that you always smell like soot and metal whenever you come visit it me. But then again, I suppose you're as fine as you can be. Any man who puts up with my grating behavior or fights off inappropriate fat dukes in my defense is more than worthy of my regard. You were the real one who has protected me and shown me kindness ever since I fled Daein. As far as champions go, I can hardly hope for better."

Jorge takes a tentative step forward and slides an arm around her waist. When she doesn't shy away, he pulls her gently against him with an affectionate smile. "And as far as lovers go?"

"Ooh, I can't say I know the answer to that one. You haven't shown me what you're capable of in that respect yet, have you?"

"What about Ike?"

"Ike?" Amazing. She had completely forgotten him up until this point. It all seems so stupid now, looking back. He'd never loved her or shown even the slightest interest for a single moment. And what's so special about him, in the long run? Sure he can fight and is as more kind and noble than most men in the world, but he isn't the one meant to understand her or accept her for her quirks and rocky past. And Jorge is just as sweet and handsome, but with the added bonus of actually being in love with her just as much as she is in love— such a relieving thing to finally admit!— with him.

"Ike will have to nurse his wounded heart with a new conquest," she says with a laugh. "He may attempt to duel with you, but true love will prevail in the end. He'll be upset for awhile, but he'll move on after he's done mourning."

"True love, hmm? Are you sure this time? No more games?"

"No more games. Don't even worry about Ike. It's his loss, after all."

Jorge grins wickedly and leans in to her. "His loss indeed," he whispers into her ear before kissing her soundly on the lips and pulling her back into his arms, the place he has so long been waiting for her to fill.

0o0o0o0o0o0o

Soren pulls off his robes in exhaustion, then folds them into a neat pile at the foot of the bed. What a night. First an unexpected rain storm, and then a trip through a mad house to face off against someone they thought they'd killed years ago. If Ashera intends for them to be run ragged by time they reach her tower, she's certainly doing an excellent job of it. Another unplanned battle like this, and who knows if they'd be able to rally in time before the judgment completed and they were all dead just like everyone else.

As Soren digs around his pack for a night shirt, he hears his door unceremoniously being thrown open. He's unsurprised to see that it's Ike entering in unannounced, even though he's a bit peeved at the complete breech of manners. He pulls the pillow off his bed and chucks it at Ike's face in punishment.

"Ever heard of knocking?" he retorts with a mild glare. "I'm in the middle of changing, and I don't need you bursting in on me like that."

"Sounds like the perfect time to burst in without knocking to me," Ike says, shamelessly sinking onto Soren's bed. "Could you do me a favor?"

"Possibly."

"Next time someone asks to join our army, would you do everything within your power to make me say no?"

Soren snorts. "Having problems with the duke? I told you it was a horrible idea. Even if Rafiel can vouch for his intentions, he's still a disgusting excuse for a human being. And then when we catch up to Tibarn and Reyson, he'll have it coming anyways."

"If he even lasts that long with the way he's been throwing himself upon anyone that breathes. If I have to tell him to keep his hands off one more time, I think I'll just do him in myself."

"He touched you?" Soren snarls, his mouth tightening.

"Nah, he knows better. But after Rafiel, he's already tried Mia, Titania, and Shinon. And now Aimee."

"Aimee? I expect she was flattered by the attention."

"Shows how little you and I know about her. She almost fainted when he touched her. Jorge came to her rescue, luckily, and he's taking care of her now. You know, I think there may even be something there."

"Something where?"

"Between the two of them."

"Aimee? And Jorge? Are you joking? Have you been absolutely clueless of the fact that she's been throwing herself on you since the Mad King's war?"

"Actually, I did notice that, thank you very much. But she has to have realized that she never really knew me all that well. If she wants to be happy, it should be with someone who really cares about her. And I know he does. I saw it in his eyes tonight when he got into it with Oliver for her sake."

"You saw it in his eyes?" Soren echoes, his mouth falling slack. "Who are you, and what have you done with Ike?"

"Hey! Is this another insult on my cluelessness? I'm not that bad. And besides, I know what the look is like now that I've seen it in your eyes." He leans forward and presses his lips against one of Soren's bare shoulder blades. "And do you want to hear what else I've noticed?"

"Well, you've piqued my interest. Go on."

"You have nice skin. I had forgotten since I hadn't seen it in so long. You always keep it buried under all of those robes, but it's really beautiful." He takes Soren's arm and studies it critically. "Although I do wish you would eat more. You're so skinny."

Soren's face flames. "As scintillating as this analysis of my body is, you need to go to bed. We should be arriving to the tower in the morning, and who knows what we will be facing there?"

"Did I embarrass you?" Ike murmurs, kissing Soren's stick-like arm to amend for his words. "How rude of me. I should apologize." He turns Soren so he is facing him and kisses him gently on the lips in contrition. "You know," he whispers as he pulls away. "There's really no reason for me to go back to my room. There's already a perfectly adequate bed right here."

"Then let me rephrase my request," Soren sighs, his blush deepening. "Go to a bed where you'll actually get some sleep so you won't be so tired that you'll pass out on the floor before you can even land a hit on Ashera. As much as I want you to stay here with me, I want you to live even more."

"And what if I want to disobey, like you did when I wasn't going to kiss you because of your cut?"

"I would tell you that a cut can heal, even after being reopened. It's only temporary. But death isn't"

"And I would say that I guess I can't argue with your logic. So I'll be a good boy and turn in." He leans in to give Soren another kiss, but Soren pulls away before it can last too long and make Ike forget that he's supposed to be leaving.

"Rest well tonight," he murmurs, releasing Ike's hand. "And here's to hoping we'll live to see another night tomorrow."

0o0o0o0o0o

**A/N: **Pssh, Soren. Don't you know that if Ike fails to beat Ashera, you just get a game over so he can try again?

Anyways, things are looking up for our couples, but J&A still don't know about the fate of their I&S bet and different wagers, and Soren still has one secret he's keeping buried that Ike should know about before anything further happens between them. Stay tuned!


	15. The Ones Who Complete Us

**A/N: **This marks the final chapter before the epilogue! Definitely an emotional one for me. Shame on you, Soren, for always making me cry. Don't you have any respect for how pitifully snesitive I am?

To all my lovely readers out there: Enjoy!

**15. The Ones Who Complete Us **(in which memories resurface, promises are made, and hope is won)

The voices of Yune and the dragon laguz resound across the room, echoing faintly against the walls of the cold chamber where so many lie dead. Soren listens as they recount the history of his heritage, the story of Lehran and Altina and the first Branded child in Tellius. He hears of Dheginsea and Lehran's decision to mask the fate of the Branded by naming the birth of one a sin, and then of the persecution that stemmed from their decision to be ruled by their fear. This, he realizes, is the justification for all he has ever suffered in his life. Two men decided thousands of years ago that protecting the powers of the laguz was more important that being honest with their people and sparing generations of innocents the sting of hatred, isolation, and rejection. And now here Soren stands as a testament to what they've done, but it's much too late for apologies, explanations, and forgiveness in his eyes. No matter what is said or done in atonement, the memories of his childhood will linger with him forever. He has been to hell and back several times over, and all of it, every single scarring second, had been because of a lie that neither half of the goddess had given anyone leave to tell.

"I hope he's happy," Soren mutters blackly, glancing over to where Kurthnaga and Ena are mourning over the body of their fallen king. "When the souls of all those who have been ruined by his idiocy find him, I hope he still thinks he acted correctly. They'll show him just how right he is."

Ike, who is standing beside Nasir and listening as he ties up his story with help from Gareth, glances over at Soren with a pained expression on his face. He hasn't looked well since defeating General Zelgius, his father's killer, but now its as if the weight of the world has been placed on his shoulders. He's much too empathetic for all of these horrible stories and memories to be thrust upon him all at once, even though it heightens his resolve to fix things once and for all. He wants so badly for things to be equal and painless for everyone, but for people like Soren, there is no neat and uncomplicated ending to be had. There's no way to compensate the abused for the time they lost running away from cruelty or escaping slavery or trying to find meaning after losing everything to a massacre. Even the hero of Crimea and savior-of-the-world to-be can't wrest time away from its grave and bring it back to life. No one can.

When the dragons are done speaking, Ike slips away to stand beside Soren rather than giving the word to move on as the mage had expected him to do. They don't have the luxury of lingering around and discussing things that aren't absolutely necessary now that the world is on the verge of ending, but all the same Soren hopes that this is exactly what Ike intends to do. He doesn't think he can go a step further without saying something to someone about how angry he is. Even if no one listens, he wants to scream and yell and hiss at life for being so ruthless and uncaring. He wants to unburden his fury now so that by time the world comes alive again he may be able to move forward without the weight of bitterness, injustice, and vengeance pulling him back to where he started, back to the coldhearted little boy who had not known love and who had never been touched by Ike.

"Soren," Ike says, placing a hand gently on his shoulder. "You all right?"

He feels some of his anger fading away at Ike's presence beside him. It's hard to stay upset while being touched so tenderly, and the wave of calm that comes from knowing he is treasured and adored has far more power than any sense of security Ashera can conjure.

"As all right as can be expected," he says weakly.

"That was some hard stuff to hear," Ike agrees. "But it's important for us to know. Now that people have heard what happened, we can work to make a change when all of this is over."

"I knew you would think so, Ike."

"Having hope keeps me sane. I don't know what I would do, otherwise." He shifts slightly, his anxiety showing clearly on his face. "Soren. I don't know if this is the time or place for us to talk about this, but there's something you should know before we go any further. If you were listening to Yune talking a few minutes ago, you must have heard that she's been receiving memories from someone in the tower. Well, after I defeated General Zelgius, I received one, too."

"What? I thought they came to Yune because she's a goddess?"

"This may have been different because the memory belonged to me as well as the person who sent it to us. I guess you could say that it had been erased earlier, and the person who took it was giving it back."

"I see," Soren said, even though he didn't. "Why was the memory erased? Did you witness something you shouldn't have?"

Ike surprises Soren by laughing. "I should be shocked that you guessed so quickly, but I suppose I pay you for your quick mind for a reason. The memory was taken away from me because when I was a kid I saw my dad driven crazy by the medallion. I saw him kill my mother."

The color drains from Soren's face. "No," he whispers.

"Yes."

"You were there? You were... you were that close to being killed?"

"I was. And I understand why the memory was taken from me. I was too young to see or understand what happened, and it would have killed my father to have me think him capable of the worst. All in all, I don't resent the decision. It was probably the best thing for me, in the end." But his forehead still knots together, proving that there is still something on his mind. "I think losing that memory made me lose other things, too, because so much is flooding back to me right now. Like living in Gallia with my parents. And meeting you."

Soren's eyes widen. "You... remember?"

"Maybe not as well as you do, but then again I've only had the opportunity to think about it for a few minutes at a time. It happened shortly before the medallion caused my father to go berserk, didn't it? I think I may have came across you only a few days before it happened?"

_He remembers_, Soren thinks to himself, his heart pounding. _He really does._

"It's all a bit fuzzy. I can tell you what I know, and maybe you can add in the details you remember. Knowing you, you probably remember everything."

Of course he does. As if a single detail of the most important and life changing event of his life would slip his mind. He spent nights upon nights dwelling on this single moment, days upon days scanning crowds and straining his ears for the sound of a single name, the name of a boy he had only seen once before he lost him for what could have been forever. That memory had been so potent that if someone had tried to take it from him like it had been taken from Ike, they would have failed no matter how strong their magical abilities were. Just as Ike clings to hope to stay sane, Soren has this as his lifeline, the one thing to keep him fighting for life in a world where he is one of the living dead, the Parentless _Branded_.

0o0o0o0o0o0o

Soren rested his head against the protruding root of an oak tree, using the rough and scratchy bark as a pillow. Every other child in Tellius would have thrown a tantrum if they had to rest in such an uncomfortable bed, but Soren was grateful that he was even getting to sleep at all. Ever since his teacher died and the birds of prey began to overtake their little shack, hungry for the taste of decaying flesh, he'd been living by his wits in the forest, too frightened of the laguz and the wild animals to dare rest his head for even a moment. But after finding a quiet little clearing just on the outskirts of the market, he felt just comfortable enough for a short nap. The animals would stay away from the nearby sounds of shopping and trading, and the laguz would be too occupied with their commerce to stray away from their stalls and notice him. So he selected an ideal tree, plopped himself down on the warm summer grass, and closed his eyes for a few moments of rest before he needed to flee somewhere else to find protection and a place to stay.

As he attempted to doze off, he heard his stomach rumble. He jumped in surprise, thinking a bear or a fox had spotted him and was preparing to launch an attack. His body had never made such a sound before, and hunger was a relatively foreign concept to him. Neither of his caretakers had made feeding him a priority, so he had no grasp on how necessary it was to eat frequently. He scavenged for berries when he could, but other than that, he never had much of anything since leaving the shack. Now his body was reaching its limit, and he had no idea what he was supposed to do.

As his stomach once again roared, he heard another sound coming from nearby the clearing. This one sounded like laughter (another concept he had a very limited grasp of) and was filled with sporadic outbursts of "Ha!" and "Ya!". He panicked as it came closer and closer. If it was a laguz, he was done for. He was too weak to run, and he had no words with which to defend himself. All he had was his ability to stay still and blend into his surroundings, and he wasn't sure how much good that would do him in the face of whatever was coming.

After a few moments of cowering in terror on Soren's part, a boy ran through the clearing, brandishing a branch in his hand and waving it around with reckless abandon. "Aha!" he yelped, stabbing the air with relish. Beads of sweat collected on his forehead and his short blue hair flew every which way, swept upwards by the wind.

_A boy_, Soren thought to himself, unsure as to whether or not he should feel relief. Even a beorc as young as this one could prove to be a threat, but he looked so inherently good and innocent that Soren hated to think badly of him on principle.

The boy made a few more intricate steps, then whirled around so he was facing Soren. "Huh?" he said, instantly dropping his stick. Soren shifted his eyes just slightly and saw that the boy was staring at him. "Oh, I didn't see you there. Hello!"

Soren glared at him, backing further against the roots. The boy had unsettling blue eyes, round and brimming with life and energy. He had never seen anything like them ever before.

"I'm Ike," the boy said, nodding politely. "You don't look very well. Are you sick?"

Soren said nothing.

"Or maybe you're hungry? I have a sandwich with me. I don't share a lot, but my mother told me that I should give things to people who need them more than I do. She would definitely want you to have it."

The boy, Ike, reached into his pocket and pulled out a handful of wrapped up food to offer to Soren. Soren backed away at first, but the smell of the food grew too tantalizing for him to resist. Besides, the boy looked decent enough. His sincere smile was a far cry from the glares of the laguz and the scowls of his former teacher. Giving into his hunger, Soren quickly snatched the sandwich and dug into it greedily.

"Good," Ike said, sounding pleased. "But I think you might need more than that if you want to play with me. I live nearby, and my mom could make you some more."

_You must be an idiot_, Soren silently snapped at the other boy. _You're not luring me anywhere with food. Nowhere is safe, and no matter how kind you are, neither are you._

Ike, of course, couldn't hear him, so he shook his head 'no'."

"But you look so hungry! Mist is too little to play with, and I wanna play with you!" Ike's voice was a bit petulant, but more than anything he just looked frustrated that the smaller and weaker boy was permitting himself to waste away instead of taking the help offered to him.

Soren bit his lip, but once again shook his head.

"What if I came by tomorrow and brought you something? Pretty please? You can stay right here if you like, and I'll come and find you."

Soren considered this. The sandwich certainly had been a welcome treat, and he was finally realizing he needed the food to survive. But more importantly, this boy was showing a genuine friendly interest in him. No one had ever done that before. Everyone used words to hurt him and make him feel worthless and alone, but this Ike wasn't like that. He merely wanted someone his own age to play with, and he saw nothing wrong in Soren. Nothing unwelcome, twisted, or aberrant like what everyone else found in him.

He finally nodded, hoping he wouldn't regret it. Hoping against hope that the boy would come find him again, just as he said he would.

"All right, I'll do my best to come tomorrow," Ike said, picking up his stick again. "Do you have a name? Can you talk?"

Soren shook his head.

"Well, you can tell me when you figure out how. Maybe I can teach you!" He beamed and gave Soren a sharp salute. "See you tomorrow! I'll make you feel better one day. I promise."

He scampered back the way he entered, humming to himself as he ran. It would be the last time Soren would see him for years, but he never forgot the promise Ike made to him. All those years, alone and searching, he held him to it, waiting hopefully for the day when the untried boy would prove to be a man of his word.

0o0o0o0o0o0o

"When I saw the bodies in the village, I looked for yours," Soren says, his voice thick with emotion. "But I couldn't find it, so I knew you had to be alive somewhere. So I left to go find you."

"Really? But how could you have known where I had gone?"

"You were a beorc. I figured you would either go to Begnion, Daein, or Crimea, and out of all of these places, Crimea was closest. So I decided to go there first."

Ike shakes his head. "Yeah, I get that. But all three of those countries have sizable populations. How did you even expect to find me among all the people in this world?"

"I don't know. I just knew that I would one day."

"So you traveled all the way to Crimea by yourself?"

"Yes," Soren says, his voice faltering. "It wasn't an easy trip. It was actually the first time that I was given clues that I was Branded. I encountered a lot of laguz along the way, and they saw me for what I was. Their eyes would fall on me, and then they would sense my Brand and turn away as if I didn't exist. I was used to having sticks and stones thrown at me, but this was something else. Like my very existence was being denied. Maybe I would be able to tolerate it now, but I was just a child then. It frightened me to know that so many people thought I was better off dead when I never understood what I had done wrong to begin with." He closes his eyes, giving into the haunting images, the scowls and blunt denials he had suffered again and again and again. "The feeling never went away," he whispers, wringing his hands. "I still felt their judgment wherever I went. It made me believe that I didn't deserve to think or breathe or feel, and that the best thing I could do was freeze myself inside. To feel nothing but the bitterness and isolation of my life."

"Soren..." Ike's voice is a melody of so many different emotions. Anger, shock, confusion, anguish, sympathy. For a moment Soren regrets sharing these things with him and forcing him to realize the depths of his pain. It's bad enough that he had to live through it himself; he doesn't need Ike to experience the horrors right along with him.

"Anyways," he says quickly, trying to push his emotions away, "I came to Crimea. I knew if I was to see you again, I'd better be able to speak for myself, so I found a church that would take me in and teach me how to act and behave like a normal person. Once I'd mastered that and more besides, I knew it was time for me to look for you again. I didn't know where to begin, so I simply wandered. I went from town to town, stopping to visit libraries and houses of learning to expand my knowledge and abilities as I looked. And then one day I found you."

"But I'd already forgotten you," Ike says, sounding genuinely upset. "After all you suffered, I couldn't even remember who you were."

"It didn't matter. All that mattered was that you were alive and safe and I had found you again. You had grown up from the boy I remembered, but as soon as you opened your mouth I knew he was still there inside you. Because once again you reached out a hand to help me and gave me everything when I had nothing, even when you had no real reason to." Tears pool in his eyes before he can blink them away. "That's why I love you, Ike. I had nothing to live for, but you gave me things to believe in, and your faith in me gave me a reason to survive. And even though you never remembered making it, you kept your promise to me through all your other duties and obligations. You made everything better again. Whatever damage I had suffered before, you erased by making me feel and have hope and worth. By loving me despite all I am, you saved my life."

"And I won't let anyone ever take your hope away from you again," Ike murmurs tremulously. "It's okay now, Soren. You don't have to cry."

"I'm not!" Soren protests, though he feels the sob building in the back of his throat. "What are you talking about?"

"As smart as you are, I know you don't know how to confront your emotions. This is hard for you, but you have to let it go." He spreads his arms open, waiting for Soren to step into his embrace. "Come here."

"Y-you're treating me like a child again! I'm not going to-"

"Come here, Soren," Ike repeats firmly, beckoning him forward. "Stop fighting it."

"You stop it!" he snaps, his voice breaking and giving way to a watery hiccup. "I d-don't want... you s-shouldn't have to..."

"Then I'll come to you." Ike crosses the distance between them and pulls Soren against his chest, gently threading his fingers into his hair. Soren tries to push him away at first, but then the smell and feel of Ike's flesh fills him, reminding him of the moment he found him in Crimea after all those years of searching. He had been in the field in front of the fort, wielding his practice blade with grace and determination that was admirable for someone so young. Soren had watched him from a distance, at first merely admiring the ease and fluidity of his movements, and then slowly realizing as he saw the blue hair and unmistakable energy who the object of his observations was.

He had meant to go talk to him straight away, but something about the scene he was witnessing gave him pause. The morning light was growing stronger, lifting its head above the horizon line and streaming softly through the thin curtains of fog, haloing Ike in its light. Ike's face was wrinkled in concentration, and Soren could see the delicate flush on it, the hint of light pink on his young and eager face. He was lovely, really, so strong and powerful and lovely, and Soren was the only one who saw him in that moment. Those few brief seconds were his and his alone. As his eyes followed Ike, there was no one else in the world but the two of them, nothing else in the world that mattered other than Ike and the fact that he was _here_.

The strength of Soren's feeling had frozen him. _What am I thinking_, he wondered to himself, nervously. _What's wrong with me? _He felt for a moment that he would be sick. Something in his stomach was churning and rising and sinking like an uncontrollable storm, and the sensation overpowered him, rendering him incapable of anything short of breathing. He just stood there, his heart beating wildly, his eyes glued to Ike's agile and elegantly dancing form. _It has to be relief. I can't believe I found him again. I can't believe he's really here._

And now, years later, here they are. Ike's arms enclose him delicately, and he feels his will to fight fading. "It's all in the past, Soren," Ike whispers into his ear. "I'm here now, and I won't ever leave you. I'm going to defeat Ashera to save our world, but I'll also do it to give you a second chance to live the life you deserve. We're both going to come out of this alive, OK? I promise."

Soren collapses into sobs, but none of it is due to sadness. More than anything else, he has been blessed rather than cursed by his life, though he had once thought it was the latter. Every moment of fear and doubt has led him to this moment, to these arms and this heart that loves him unconditionally. People who have always had homes or who were born into love without having to comb the world and turn it upside down to find it can't possibly know what it feels like to to step into this sacred place, the embrace of someone who provides shelter and much needed rest, but who also is a foundation to rebuild a life upon, a fertile ground in which to plant roots and grow old immersed within. Even if he had to bare the brunt of a needless lie and suffer the fate of an outcast and pariah, perhaps it's worth it in the end, if only because his troubled path brought him straight to this.

Tears streaming from his eyes and a smile quivering on his face, he stands on his toes and presses his wet cheek against Ike's. "Thank you," he sniffles, clearing his throat. "No matter what happens, I'll love you for every moment we have in this life. For as long as we live and breathe, I'll be at your side."

"I promise that I'll give us as many years as possible to be together. After finally winning you, I'm not about to lose you now." Ike pulls away from the embrace slowly, his eyes alight with a determination to rival any he's ever shown before. "I think it's time, Soren. You've given me the most important reason to fight I've ever had in my life, and as I'm always saying, it's all about the cause you fight for. Whatever motivation Ashera has can't stand up to mine. I love you. And I am going to win."

0o0o0o0o0o0o

Aimee shields her eyes as a new wave of golden armored disciples materialize in front of the tower door. This batch is worse off than the one before it, she notices. Many of their wounds are still open, and they look half way to dying all over again, as if the goddess only bothered to pull them part of the way out of the grave. Ike's remaining forces quickly send them back to their maker, but they too are exhausted and bloody and less alive than they would surely like. There is a shortage of healers as Mist, Elincia, and Micaiah are all away in Ashera's lair, and even all of the many vulneraries, elixirs, and concoctions the merchants have been distributing freely are running out. If this doesn't end soon, Aimee hates to think what will become of them. It's becoming a horrifying possibility that they may die before Ashera is even confronted by Ike's team in the first place.

"I hope this means something big is going on in there," Jorge sighs, nodding at the dilapidated disciples appearing every few minutes. "I can't think of what else would cause a deity who thinks her every move is pure perfection to create such pitiful undead warriors."

"They've certainly been in there long enough," Aimee agrees, staring at the Tower of Salvation hopefully. "I know they can do it. I just wish we could be in there with them so we didn't have to endure this horrid waiting. And what if it doesn't happen in time? What if the disciples get to us before Ike gets to Ashera?"

Jorge grimaces. "If we die so that everyone else survives, at least it will be a noble end."

"I don't want to have any end yet. I'm not ready! I only just came to my senses about everything yesterday, and it wouldn't be fair for me to die as soon as I started to live again."

"I know. Let's hope it doesn't come to that." He smiles fleetingly. "Do you realize that we never even found out how our bet ended? You definitely lost, or at least I hope you have considering you bet that you would be Ike's lady love in the end. But I've been so occupied that I've forgotten to check in with Ike and his budding romance to see if I've officially won."

"I don't know if I should be angry or happy that I lost," Aimee muses. "Honestly, I still don't want you have the satisfaction of triumphing over me."

"But if it's for Ike's happiness..."

"If Ike manages to win the day for us, I guess I can relent." She pauses, noticing the new disciples as they stumble to their feet. "Look at them. They're collapsing before our soldiers even lift their weapons. It has to be ending now, it has to."

Jorge takes her hand. "I hope so. But even if it isn't, I'm glad that we could resolve things between us before all of this happened. This may sound foolish, but I'd sooner face death with the knowledge that you care for me than without it. Even though knowing what I'll be missing out on is hard, it's better than never having it to begin with."

"We're not going to die," she says firmly. "Ike is going to come out of that tower, and we are going to walk away from this place and live a long and beautiful life together. I know it, Jorge. There's so many things left for us to do."

As soon as the words fall from her lips, a soldier hollers and points upwards to the pinnacle of the tower. It's just a slight bit of movement, but every eye turns to catch it, to see for themselves the possibility of salvation soaring from the sky. The object, a little orange ball of light, plummets to the ground and then levels off above their heads. It hovers there for a moment and someone cries out, "It's the Maiden's bird! Are we saved?"

"Yune!" Aimee gasps. "Is it Yune? Can you see her?"

"It's definitely a bird, all right," says Jorge. "See how its wings are flapping?"

"It has to be her! The disciples' bodies are disappearing!" She squeals and throws her arms around Jorge's neck. "They did it! They did it, they did it!"

"Look!" Marcia and Lyre yell in unison, turning everyone's attention to the tower door. It's bursting open and people are streaming out. Jill and Haar lead the pack, soaring out on their wyverns followed into the sky by Tibarn, Reyson, and Elincia. Each of them wears a jubilant smile on their faces as Yune circles them, singing a victorious song in her bird voice before flying off into the horizon to bring life back to the dead and silent world.

The soldiers that had been left behind clamor around the emerging champions to embrace and shed some tears of relief over them, but Aimee and Jorge stay back, clinging to each other. The prospect of the future opens up before them as they watch the victors return one by one, and the beauty of it fills their hearts with happiness. They can all go forwards now that the way has been opened to them. They can go where they want and do as their hearts desire, but most of all they can wallow in the priceless gift of life that has been renewed for them by Yune and Ike. Nearly losing it had taught them how precious and irreplaceable each moment they have to spend is, and now that they have time at their disposal once again, they can make it count by living it freely and unafraid together.

Jorge brushes his lips against her forehead as Aimee sobs gleefully into his shoulder. "I won," he whispers, just barely audible over her tears and the sound of the celebrating fighters.

"I think we all did, dearie."

"No, I mean I _won_. Look over there."

She pulls her head up from his shoulder and glances over to the tower where Ike and Soren are at last emerging. Their hands are entwined, and both seem completely oblivious to the activity around them through how singlemindedly focused they are on each other. Soren reaches out to wipe a smear of blood away from Ike's cheek, and Ike playfully snatches his hand and plants a tender kiss on it. They both look horrible and exhausted in Aimee's eyes, but at the same time they appear so strangely happy, as if they don't even notice their wounds or the messy battlefield they are returning to. All the same, she doesn't understand how the two of them could possibly be a pair. Ike is Ike, a god of strength and rugged appeal, and Soren is... Soren.

She's about ready to brush the notion aside and question Jorge's sanity, when Ike has the audacity to bend down and lift Soren into his arms, planting a particularly unchaste kiss on his parted lips. Her eyes nearly pop out of her head. So Jorge really was right, after all. Soren and Ike. Ike and Soren. She supposes stranger things have happened in this world, but, then again, a strapping young hero making out with his scrawny excuse of a best friend has to be the most unlikely thing she ever has and ever will see.

Aimee turns back to Jorge, feeling somewhat offended. "Are you telling me that you bet on that runty brat over me!" She punches his in the arm. "You can't be serious!"

Jorge shrugs innocently. "Why not? We're talking about Ike's preferences here, not mine."

"You mean to tell me that all this time he was secretly dreaming of his _staff officer_?" Aimee shakes her head in incredulity. "I've misjudged people before, but this takes it to a new level."

"Hey, give Soren credit. Ike wouldn't fall in love with just anyone, right?"

"I guess." She places her hands on her hips. "Aren't you going to tell me what I owe you now?"

"No. I actually want to hear what your wager was first."

"Oh." Her face falls slightly. "I... I wanted you to help me find my mother's grave in Daein. I know Prideri did something with her body, and I thought it would be good for me to give her a proper sendoff. To say goodbye the way I've never been able to say it before."

Jorge nods in understanding. "Then pack your bags, Aimee. We're going to Daein."

"W-what? What are you saying? You won, Jorge! You don't have to do what I want to do."

"Yes I do. Because it's exactly what I want, too. So we're going." He affectionately tugs on a strand of her hair. "Besides, you already gave me what I was wanting to win in the first place."

"Did I?" she wonders, racking her brain. "What have I given you recently? Money? Bandages for Oscar's horse? A helping of meat and potatoes?"

"No. Something much, much better that." He grins, taking her hand and squeezing it. "You gave me a chance."

0o0o0o0o0o0o

**A/N: **Epilogue will be up next. Stay tuned!


	16. Finales

**A/N: **And now at last it is over. I've had a lot of fun writing this, and I hope all my readers have had just as much fun as I have! Thanks again to everyone who has been loyally reading and/or reviewing, it always makes my day to read your feedback. This final section is for all of ya'll, so you'd better enjoy it! Or else!

**16. Finales**

**The Queen's Speech**

The nobility is strangely silent when Elincia takes her seat before them for the first time since returning from the tower. They offer her no criticism, no accusations, no doubt or anger or sarcasm, and if any single one of them holds any lingering suspicions about the future of her rule, they keep their thoughts to themselves. Their powers over her are gone now, and nothing they can say or do stands up to what she has done. Like it or not, they are in her debt and in the debt of those they had hated and feared: Daein and the laguz. She is the one with the power now, and they are the ones at her mercy.

"I'm glad you've all agreed to meet with me," Elincia begins, nodding to her subjects. "I know these past few days have been eventful for you. Suffering the fate decreed unjustly for you by the goddess must have been harrowing, and I know it was an added shock for you to return to a world so greatly altered during your absence. Not to mention the surprise you must have felt at the unexpected return of my lord uncle, whom we all believed to be dead."

"My apologies for the inconvenience," Renning wryly interjects. "The next time death comes for me, I'll do a better job of staying dead."

"Let us hope that day is long in coming, Uncle," she replies affectionately. "As I was saying, I understand that most of you have many other things you must attend to in this trying time, so I am honored you would find a moment to hear me speak. I will try and be short, but I know that I must fully explain to you how I intend to approach my governance of this land in light of recent events. It is a pressing issue, and I would never dream of taking action without the knowledge of those who are invested in the prosperity of this nation."

"A more benevolent and infinitely wise woman there never was," Bastian declares. "Pray continue! Our awestruck ears are yours."

"Thank you, Bastian," she says, studying her audience with her wide and sincere eyes. "I hope everyone else here is just as eager to be attentive. I begin with a humbling recollection. About a year ago, as you will recall, a nobleman among your numbers attempted to usurp me from my throne. He cited my inexperience and idealism among his primary reasons for his decision, and for these faults of mine he attempted to dissolve the unity of our people and take away my dearest friend and adviser." She nods to Lucia. "But it wasn't only that. When I spoke with Duke Ludveck after he threatened Lucia's life, he said something of me that I am sure each and every one of you were thinking at the time. 'Crimea isn't interested in having a warm hearted, laguz loving idealist on the throne,' I believe were his words."

"They were," Geoffrey nods. "I was there when he issued this insult to her."

She smiles, grateful for his support. "Indeed. I knew Ludveck was telling the truth to me. I know his words are true now for many, even in spite of what has happened. You wish me to be a queen who serves only your wishes and desires. This may be what you want of me, but it is not what Crimea needs. The world is changing for all beorc, laguz, and Branded. The time for hatred and prejudice has passed, and acceptance and reform are called for. And I am the queen you need for this time of alteration, even if I am not the one you want."

She pauses, studying the faces of her listeners. Many are regarding her coolly, but even more appear interested in what she is saying. Geoffrey, Lucia, Bastian, and her uncle, of course, are grinning ear to ear at her boldness.

"I have been accustomed to following the advice you give me," she continues. "You are my people, and I am honor bound to hear your wishes and satisfy them as best I can. I will continue to respect you, but I will no longer to permit you to hold Crimea back when what we need most is to move forward. There are more voices I must turn to now. The common people who our every decision affects. Caineghis, Skrimir, and Ranulf of Gallia, my friends and allies. The Empress of Begnion and Queen Micaiah, young women whose nations were foremost among persecutors until they championed change. King Tibarn and Reyson and all those who serve for the united bird tribes. Kurthnaga of the dragons. Queen Nailah of Hatari. It is my decision to stand united with these people and be inspired by their example, but first and foremost, I choose now to follow my instincts. I know I can be a good leader to you, but you will have to let me try."

Elincia rises to her feet and takes a deep breath. Now for the risky part of her declaration. "I have one more thing to say to you," she says, clasping her hands nervously to her breast. "The rulers of Crimea have always used the nobility as a sounding board for ideas and laws, and also as a minor governing body to assist them with important decisions such as matters of war and country-to-country relations. But never before in history, to my knowledge or my lord uncle's, have they had any say whatsoever in the who the current monarch chooses to give his or her heart to. Keeping this in mind, I would like to issue a request to all of you. But before I do, would you please join me, Geoffrey?"

Geoffrey inclines his head in deference to her. "Your highness," he says with solemnity, rising to stand by her side.

She takes his hand firmly in her own. "Now, I am sure all of you are well aware of how things stand between Geoffrey and I, especially since many of you were instrumental in keeping us separated from the moment our attachment was made known. However, it is my opinion that you have kept us apart for long enough. I am in love with him. He is a good man, one who adores his people with the same strength and dedication as I." She glances at him, the sight of his serious smile making her brave. "I do not see why there should be any objection to a future marriage, and until I hear a reason that is thoughtful and worthy of my consideration, I fully intend to take him as my husband with or without your consent."

"You do?" Geoffrey asks, his jaw dropping. "And when were you planning on telling me this?"

"Right now, obviously," Lucia chuckles, rolling her eyes. "My compliments to the lady for the very romantic proposal."

"Ah, to be unmanned by fairest woman and locked firmly in the bonds of her ever tempestuous whims," Bastian sighs, making eyes at Lucia. "Longing to equal your passionate happiness, my dear friend, I am the very green of envy."

"Never mind that. Is this really your wish?" Geoffrey asks her, forgetting for a moment the amount of eyes glued to them. "If it is, you know I will do my utmost to make you happy and be a good and fair king to your subjects. But I want you to be sure."

"Oh, Geoffrey," she laughs, squeezing his hand. "I was sure years ago. I was sure the moment you pledged to stay by my side even though I had just made a decision that would end the life of your sister. I understand now how much unconditional trust and love that must have taken. And now I'm ready for the life I promised to you then. The one we were born to live, you and I."

"In that case," he whispers, breaking into a grin, "how can I say no?"

"Good. I was hoping you would not cause me to embarrass myself in front of all these people." She turns back to the absolutely flabbergasted gentry. "Well, that about sums up everything I needed to say. A new Crimea is on the verge of being born, and your future king and I will gladly do our part to make this a golden age for you and all the rest of our subjects. We hope that you will do your part as well in the months to come. Any questions?"

The nobles remain silent. Where once a mere girl had stood before them trying to wield influence and tentatively dip her toes into power, they now see a queen. A true, beautiful, and strong queen. There is nothing more they can say to instruct or refute her now. She has found her way through adversity and back, and her hands are the ones resting surely on the reigns; the rest of them are simply along for the ride, to watch her grow as she becomes a ruler for all of Crimea to be proud of.

0o0o0o0o0o0o

**A Lingering Spirit**

"I never thought I'd come here again of my own volition," Aimee admits as she and Jorge walk through the streets of Nevassa she had once known intimately. "My goodness, does it look different. Micaiah has done wonders here."

"She's not called a Maiden of Miracles for nothing."

"Oh, I am well aware of what she is capable of. I just can't believe this is the same place where everything happened all those years ago. It just looks so... clean."

"Should we pay her a visit, do you think? If anyone could navigate us through this place, it would be her or maybe Sothe. Or we could hunt down Jill and Haar?"

"What did I say about using Jill's name in my presence?"

"Aimee, how many times do I have to remind you that I was just kidding with all of the Jill stuff?" Jorge sighs, massaging his forehead. "Anyways, what do you think? Is a trip to Daein Keep called for?"

"I'm pretty sure I know where the place where he kept my mother is. It's not very far."

"But it might still be Prideri's land, if he's still alive. Are you sure you want to go waltzing all over it?"

"Don't be foolish. It was his summer cottage. It's autumn right now. He won't be there."

"Ah, I see. Heavens help the man who lives in the wrong house during the wrong season."

"One must keep from making social slips where they can." She tugs on his hand. "Let's get a move on, my sweet. It may be prettier, but I'll never really trust this city. It reminds me too much of smelly dogs and going hungry."

"A truly inspired combination."

"And I hadn't even gotten around to mentioning the rotting meat!"

The two escape the center of Nevassa and begin to march towards the hilly countryside on the outskirts, plenty of chatter flying between them. Jorge had worried that this journey would make Aimee more upset than anything, but she's managed fairly well. "I just want to put this to rest," she'd said at start of their mission, and though he knew her to be sincere, he'd wondered if her resolve would fade once they broke off from the caravan and journeyed into Daein on their own. But thankfully she is still her cheerful self, her spirits thriving even in spite of the task ahead of them.

"This is actually a nice area," Aimee admits grudgingly as they pass through a field littered with wildflowers. "I hope it was a comfort to my mother before she died. She loved beautiful things, but unlike Prideri she had no illusions of holding onto them forever. 'Never cling to the things of this earth as if they belong to you, Aimee,' she told me. 'Everything made from the earth belongs to it, and will return to it one day'. But of course there is no harm in treasuring things while they last, and she did so love looking at the flowers."

"Whatever her final moments were like, I am sure she was glad that they didn't occur on the streets of a foreign city."

"Oh, indeed. But sometimes I wonder if she wished I was there with her. It would have to be so sad to die alone."

"If you had been there, you would have risked falling ill and dying yourself. She wouldn't have wanted that, as your mother."

"I understand that. But I worry that she was afraid before she passed, and that I could have somehow made it better. To suffer is one thing, but to suffer alone with no one to reach out to help or hold you when it grows too hard to bear..." Aimee shivers. "I can only hope that Ashera was merciful and took her soul before she realized what was happening."

In the distance they see two red brick cottages surrounded by daffodils and tall oak trees with vibrant red, orange, and gold leaves. "Is this the place?" Jorge asks, surprised by how cozy a home owned by such a madman could be. "It's wonderful."

"This should be it. That other house must belong to the neighbors that found my mother."

They approach the place reverently, studying every inch. Aimee scans the ground for a sign of raised earth or a marker of any kind, but she sees nothing. Just the flowers blowing gently in the wind, enjoying life before winter comes and takes them away for another season.

"Should we go inside?" she asks, gesturing to one of the cottages. "This one is definitely his. No one else would have that horrid statuette of a wyvern in such an otherwise lovely garden."

"Won't it be locked?"

"Don't play dumb. I know Sothe taught you how to lockpick during the first war."

"Sure, but I'll need a hairpin."

"Then you're traveling with the right woman, dearie." She pulls one out of her pocket. "With hair as long and beautiful as mine, you're never without one. I'm surprised you don't have one yourself, Mr. Ponytail."

"Very funny." He snatches it from her hand and begins toying with the lock on the cottage's front door. "You'd better be right about this being a summer home. I could go to jail for this, you know."

"I thought I warned you that my wager would involve a _dangerous_ favor? And need I remind you that you were the one who insisted we do this?"

"Hey. Just trying to be an acceptable champion for you, my lady. Can't have Kieran coming in and trying to take my place, right?" He twists the handle on the door, and it comes open. "Aha! Good to know Sothe is good for something else besides dressing suggestively. Let's check it out."

The interior of the cottage is draped entirely in white sheets, but from what Jorge can tell, it is scantly furnished. From Aimee's description of Prideri, he'd been expecting nude statues and rich paintings on every surface, but the walls are completely bare and the covered up objects seem to be merely chairs, a sofa, and perhaps a desk.

"I thought this might be the case," Aimee muses, pulling the sheets away one by one. "He was always very superstitious, and I did wonder if my mother's death might convince him not to come here so frequently. He would worry about being haunted by her spirit, especially if he believed she would know what he had done to me. The house would have also lost its attraction to him since all of his old things would have been burned in case they carried traces of the plague." She uncovers a sofa with a headache inducing floral pattern embroidered into the cushions. "Ah, yes. I remember this. One of his lesser used pieces from a guest room or something. Well, I suppose this means he didn't die. If he had, this place would have sold and everything in it would be auctioned."

"I guess that means all your mother's things are gone now."

"Things?" Aimee laughs bitterly. "We didn't have things. We sold everything we ever owned before coming to Daein, and the only items we ever purchased after that were food."

"But you were sending her money, weren't you?"

"Yes. And if Prideri permitted the money to reach her, she would have saved it up for our future after we left Daein again. Whatever money there was went to the fire, too." Aimee swallows back a sob of disappointment. "There's nothing left of her here any more. And if they buried her body by this house, they didn't even mark the spot. She's...gone. There's no trace of her left anywhere."

Jorge pulls her into an embrace as she sniffles, desperately trying to keep her emotions at bay. "Oh Aimee, you know that isn't true," he murmurs comfortingly. "Your mother may have told you that everything returns to the earth where it belongs, but that is and never will be true of love. You carry her in your heart, and she lives on in you. Please don't be so sad. You haven't lost her at all."

"But I... I so wanted to find her to say goodbye..."

"I know, Aimee. I know. And I swear on everything I have that we will keep on looking and turn the world upside down to your heart's content. But I don't think you'll ever be happy with yourself even if you do find where she's buried unless you come to terms with the fact that it wasn't your fault. It wasn't anyone's fault. Whether you were there or not, the plague would have found her." He takes a deep breath, praying that she won't be angry at him for speaking so freely. "You must have so many wonderful memories of her, but I don't think you'll love them as much if they're always tainted by guilt and regret for not being with her when she died."

Aimee pulls away slowly, looking Jorge directly in the eyes. She doesn't look angry, he's surprised to note, but rather bewildered. "Do you know who you remind me of?" she asks, arching an eyebrow.

"Who?"

"Her. The last thing she ever said... before I left, I told her that I was so sorry that it was necessary for me to go away from her. I thought she might say that she was sorry, too, but that wasn't the way she did things. She just frowned at me and said, 'Aimee, you'll never get anywhere in life by being sorry for everything. Go on and have your adventure, and what will happen will happen. Don't worry about the way things ought to go or regret life because it never is what you planned it to be. Just live, Aimee. Live.'" A smile abruptly breaks on her face. "I always thought she was wrong. It was my life. I thought I should be able to control it."

"I noticed. You always had a way of saying you were going to 'make' things happen. Including Ike falling in love with you." Jorge can't help but laugh a little at that. "You can't tell me you still believe in it after what happened."

"I don't know. It's scary to live in a world where a goddess can turn people into stone, your mother can fall ill and die without you knowing, and you can fall in love with a scrawny blonde man with a ponytail instead of an entirely more suitable and fit war hero without having any say in it."

"Scrawny? Want to say that again?"

"You're scrawny. And your nose is kind of big." She throws her head back and giggles. "But maybe you and Mother are right. What will happen will happen. Maybe I should just go on my little adventure with no expectations and let myself be surprised every once in awhile. It's not such a bad thing, sometimes."

Jorge narrows his eyes. "As nice as that is to hear, are all the insults necessary?"

"It's your punishment for being right all the time. It's quite annoying, you know." Her smile slips a little and she falls to her knees to rest her palm against the wood floor. "But I suppose it's all right this time. This was the last place she was last alive, after all. It's as good a place as any to say a prayer for her."

Jorge remains quiet as she silently offers her words and thoughts up to her mother, at last acknowledging the lingering spirit she has been carrying with her all this time without knowing it. When she comes to her feet again, he wordlessly offers her his arm and begins to pull the sheets back over the barren house to set it back to its silent rest and vigil.

When he has finished, Aimee gestures to the door. "Our adventures await us, dearie," she says, a voice slightly wet with emotion, but surprisingly strong and buoyant considering. "Are you ready to turn the world upside down with me?"

"Always," he says with a grin, leading her back out into the sunlight and on towards the uncertain and beautiful future awaiting them on the horizon.

0o0o0o0o0o0o

**Here Begins a New Life**

Soren had never been particuarly fond of sleeping before, but having Ike as a more integral part of his life has given him new reasons to appreciate the art of dozing off in a euphoric stupor, still high off the feeling of their bodies united together and blissfully exhausted by the draining act of love. He is glad of the opportunity to dream peacefully away at Ike's side, waking every so often study his sleeping partner and lock the image away in his mind before falling back to sleep, all in hopes of having him there in his thoughts at every moment, the rightful star of his every dream. He can hardly call the hours he spends in bed a waste of time anymore; in fact, he's beginning to wonder if a better outlet for his time and energies exists. As satisfying as his work for the company is, this is something just as challenging and rewarding in this. Perhaps sleeping in a little bit isn't the crime he had once thought it to be.

Yawning drowsily, Soren rolls onto his side and extends an arm forward to reach out to Ike and pull him closer for some much needed warmth, but instead of connecting with the tender contours of his beloved's flesh, his hand finds a fistful of rumpled sheets in the place where Ike should be. He cracks upon an eye. To his surprise, he finds himself alone in their bed, though the area beside him is still warm, as if it had only just been abandoned.

_What's he doing up, _Soren wonders to himself, stretching sleepily and untangling his limbs from his cocoon of blankets. _Even I would hesitate to get up so early, especially when it's so nice and cozy right here..._

With a sigh, he pulls himself out of bed and slips into a set of fresh robes, the only pair left unpacked. Their meager bags are tucked to the side of the room, waiting eagerly for the journey they would be embarking on this afternoon. It would probably be the last time their belongings ever touched this place, and the thought of it is bittersweet for Soren. As glad as he is to be going, the fort would always hold memories for him. This is where he reunited with Ike after his years of wandering, and where he spent many satisfying years honing his skills and watching Ike grow from a fledgling fighter to the man he is today. It would be strange to say goodbye to it forever, without any prospect of ever coming back.

After making the bed and neatening up Ike's things, which the commander had left strewn across the floor the night before in typical Ike fashion, Soren leaves the room and heads downstairs. It doesn't take him long to figure out where Ike has gone; all he has to do is follow the smell of slightly burnt coffee coming from the kitchen. Sure enough, a half undressed Ike is slumped over on the table, taking deep gulps of his drink in a valiant attempt to wake himself up. The cupboards have been thrown open and the ingredients within rearranged, but there's no indication that Ike has taken anything out to eat.

"Ahh Soren," he groans drowsily, propping his drooping head up with his fist. "Do you wanna know something?"

"That there's a good reason why you don't usually get up this early?"

"That too. But what I was going to say is that I absolutely have no idea how to cook."

"And this is supposed to be news?" Soren begins pulling ingredients from the cupboards for breakfast. "You've never made a meal in your life. Oscar and Mist have always taken care of it. If you wanted to eat, why didn't you wait until they got up?"

"Because we're leaving."

"Not until this afternoon, right?"

"Actually..." Ike sighs and chugs down the rest of his coffee. "No, we're leaving after breakfast. Before anyone else can wake up and realize what we're doing."

"Hmm? But you told them all we were leaving a long time ago. Why do we have to hide this from them?"

"I have a hard time with goodbyes, all right? I don't want to make this difficult for them or for us. It should be a clean break. The last memories we have of them should be happy ones, and I don't want to ruin it with tears and requests to write every day. This is a big day for us, and we should head into it not weighed down by anything. Unless you have any objections?"

"What about Mist? She'll hunt us down and kill us if we leave her without word."

"I anticipated that. She knows all about this plan of mine, and we said our goodbyes last night."

"Ah." Soren lays a few strips of bacon onto a skillet and starts a small fire underneath the pan. "Well, I have no further complaint. It wasn't going to be me they would say their goodbyes to, anyways."

Ike rolls his eyes. "Huh. You know, every single one of them has complained to me for taking you away. They aren't sure what they're going to do without your genius mind managing things around here."

"Really?"

"Really."

"Mm." Soren takes a moment to mind the bacon, indifferently inhaling the scent as it sizzles away in the pan, but Ike, meat devotee that he is, stumbles to his feet to stand closer to his favorite smell as his food prepares.

"I really need to learn how to make this for myself in case of an emergency. But until then..." He wraps his arms around Soren's waist and buries his face in his dark hair. "Thank you. I don't know what I would do without you."

"So you're in it for the food?" Soren sniffs drily. "I see."

"Hey. Don't discredit my thousands of other reasons." He brushes his lips against Soren's neck. "As much as I like bacon, I would say you taste much, much better."

"Charming."

"Mmmm."

"For someone who claims to be so hungry, you're making it very difficult for the cook to concentrate."

"Sorry." He pulls his mouth away, though he leaves his arms around Soren's waist. "Good thing it's usually Oscar and Mist in charge of these things."

"When we're on the road, it's going to be me. Unless you miraculously pick up the skill somewhere along the line."

"I'll have to get used to it, then. But I can't imagine finding the sight of you paired with bacon _not_ attractive."

"A problem that could be easily solved. It'll be carrots and oatmeal for you from now on."

Ike pulls a scowl. "I thought you wanted me to survive this journey, Soren."

"If the herons can survive without bacon, I'm sure you can."

"Oh, I would live, but I think life might lose its meaning for awhile. I'd rather we didn't chance it."

"I suppose you'll just have to learn how to let me cook in peace, in that case."

When the bacon is finished cooking, the two sit down and quickly polish off the meal. They don't have much time left now, and they both know it. In a half-hour, Rhys will be up for morning prayers, and Oscar and Titania will shortly follow. If their getaway is to be clean and painless, they have to fetch their bags and go as soon as possible. The time has finally come.

"How do you feel?" Ike asks Soren as they gather up their things. "Nervous?"

"Not a chance. As long as I'm with you, everything is fine."

"Honestly, I feel the same way. It's a bit unexpected. I thought would be more upset than this. This is my father's place, after all, and his grave is here... but I have my memories, and I'll be taking all of them with me wherever I go. If I left you behind, on the other hand..." He shudders to himself. "I'd have my thoughts of you, but I wouldn't have your voice to guide me or your body beside me every night. I don't know what I would do without you, Soren. I really don't."

"Ike..."

"Soren." He takes his hand, squeezing it. "I'm not scared at all about this. I'm ready. This is the life I was looking for all this time. And I'm so fortunate to be spending it with you."

"I... thank you. You don't know... how much that means to me."

"You might as well get used to hearing it. I love you, you know. I always will."

Ike pulls Soren into his arms, and the mage closes his eyes and inhales the warm and comforting scent of his body. A part of him still wonders why this is happening to him and not someone else. Years ago, his heart still jaded and his body still frozen by the ice his past had forced upon him, he would have never imagined himself here, on the verge of starting a new life with man he loves and who also, inexplicably, loves him. How can he possibly ever have ended up in this happy place, set free of his life as an angry, bitter Branded and loved despite being born into a loveless breed? If he didn't feel Ike's hands firmly on his waist and his lips gently urging his open, a feeling so strong it can't possibly be a dream, he may not have believed it was real. Only a few months ago he would have laughed at such ideas, rolling his eyes and deeming them impossible.

_But that's what this journey has been all about_, he realizes to himself as he sinks into Ike, giving in once again to a force greater than his faltering sense of unworthiness. The not knowing, the fear and the doubt were his blind trek through shadows, the perilous search for certainty, identity, and love. And the discovery? The discovery is the moment of clarity, the moment of decision, the moment of stepping into a home and into the arms of the one you love and feeling worthy of them. The not knowing had been the first journey, the one that was ending in this moment. What came next was a new adventure, a new quest, a new opportunity to find out more about himself and fall more thoroughly in love with the man who had given him everything he had dared hope to for. And he wasn't afraid for the same reasons Ike wasn't afraid.

He was ready.

0o0o0o0o0o0o

**A/N: **Thanks for reading, all!


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